"Never heard of Audubon?" cried Sylvia, delighted to show up my ignorance. "Only of the great Audubon, Miss Sylvia; the _great_, the very _great_ Audubon." "Well, this was the _great_, the very _great_ Audubon. He lived in Henderson, and kept a corn-mill. He and my father were friends, and he gave my father some of his early drawings of Kentucky birds. Georgiana has them now, and that is where she gets her love of birds--from my father, who got his from the _great_, the very _great_ Audubon." "Would Miss Cobb let me see these drawings?" I asked, eagerly. "She might; but she prizes them as much as if they were stray leaves out of the only Bible in the world." As Sylvia turned inside out this pocket of her mind, there had dropped out a key to her sister's conduct. Now I understood her slighting attitude towards my knowledge of birds. But I shall feel some interest in Miss Cobb from this time on. I never dreamed that she could bring me fresh news of that rare spirit whom I have so wished to see, and for one week in the woods with whom I would give any year of my life. Are they possibly the Henderson family to whom Audubon intrusted the box of his original drawings during his absence in Philadelphia, and who let a pair of Norway rats rear a family in it, and cut to pieces nearly a thousand inhabitants of the air? There are two more days of June. Since the talk with Sylvia I have called twice more upon the elder Miss Cobb. Upon reflection, it is misleading to refer to this young lady in terms so dry, stiff, and denuded; and I shall drop into Sylvia's form, and call her simply Georgiana. That looks better--Georgiana! It sounds well, too--Georgiana!