“That is not the way to welcome us,” they said; “accidents must happen, and must be forgotten. No, we saw nothing of Pipi. Why don’t you sing, instead of telling us sad tales?” And on they went into the meadow, where the songs of the cock birds were calling them.
One well-known song was missing from the tall elm by the brook-side; and Flip, in spite of his excitement in singing, and his hopes that his courtship might be successful with a certain little brown member of a last year’s brood, could not help thinking now and then, with a heavy heart, of Pipi the best of singers, and of all the happiness they might have had but for that unlucky lighthouse. Twinkle too would sometimes remind him of his sorrow in
his blunt and selfish way, and Flip felt his company still so unpleasant that he moved to a tree further up the brook.
One day, not long after the arrival of the hens, when Flip had made sure of his little spouse, and they were flying after one another from tree to tree round the field, then into another field and another, in loving chase, Flip caught a low song that made him stop instantly and perch. It sounded again from a low willow, and then Flip could see the singer moving about inside the tree, where the leaves were just beginning to appear. In another moment a willow-warbler fluttered out; its flight was feeble, and as it perched again, Flip could see that it held on with some difficulty to the twig, for its right leg was injured. But it was Pipi!
Yes, it was Pipi beyond all doubt; and Flip, glued to his bough by amazement, gave out such a strain of song as he had never in his whole life before been able to produce. Pipi looked up and saw Flip; in an instant they were together, and in such a state of tremor and delight, that poor Mrs. Flip was left quite out in the cold, and became for the first time in her life jealous of a cock bird.