A tiny olive-green bird hopped about from twig to twig near them. The two watched it in silence.
“Yes, Ruth, I will prove it to you some day. Something has stirred in my heart that has never wakened before. It is like a great, deep longing—not for anything that I can really put into words, but—it seems as if sometime, somewhere, I must have seen something, and my longing is to see and to find it again, whatever it was, so that I may show it to you.”
The little olive-green bird chirped upon the pine twig. There was one note in his song that seemed to stir David’s memory.
“Listen, Ruth!” he cried; “catch that bird’s note. Listen!”
They both waited, and the bird sang again.
David’s eyes shone. “Oh, Ruth,” he cried, “there is one note in that song that seems almost divine!” Ruth sang the bird’s song, in a voice sweet and clear, but very soft.
“Good!” cried David. “Now hold that note.”
Ruth held the note that had especially caught the boy’s ear. David looked at her as she sang. Then, all at once, a wave of memory swept over him.
“I have it, Ruth! It is the note in the Blue Bird’s song. Oh, how could I forget it all this time?”
Then, as if in answer to his cry, far up in the topmost branches of the pine tree came the song of the Blue Bird, clear, sweet, unmistakable. David sprang to his feet.