Here in this attic room the young naturalist dreamed of making careful, accurate drawings of all the birds of America. He knew that this would be a difficult matter, but he was not deterred by thought of hardship and poverty. While he was dreaming of what he would do for the world, something was happening in London that was to have an effect on his life. An official named Bakewell refused to be silent about a matter that the king felt should be forgotten. Bakewell was a conscientious man, and he did not feel that silence would be proper. The king rebuked him, and he resigned his office. At once he made up his mind to leave England and make a home in America, taking with him his wife and daughter. After many investigations, he found an estate near Philadelphia that pleased him--Fatlands, on the Schuylkill, near the Perkiomen, so named because every year the latter stream overflows and deposits rich sediment on the surrounding lands. The mansion house at Fatlands was built in 1774, and there Washington as well as the British commander had been entertained by the Quaker owner who felt that he could not show partiality. Here the English immigrant made his home. Of course Audubon heard of the coming of the strangers to the house across the road, not half a mile from his own quarters. But he did not go to call on them. He was French and they were English; he felt sure they would be undesirable acquaintances, and that he had better keep to the woods and follow his own pursuits, without reference to others. Then came a day when he was having a delightful stroll through the woods. He was carrying specimens of many kinds. A stranger, also a hunter, encountered him and made a remark about his burden that touched a responsive chord. Soon the two were on good terms. "You must come and see me," the stranger said. The invitation was accepted with alacrity. Then came the question, "Where do you live?" To his surprise, Audubon heard that this pleasing man was his new neighbor at Fatlands. Deciding that an Englishman was not so bad, after all, he made it convenient to call very soon. Then when he saw Mary Bakewell, the daughter of the house, he was sure he liked the English. She showed great sympathy for his pursuits, and he liked to talk with her about them. Before long she decided to help him in his great life work, the American ornithology. The marriage was postponed because of the death of Mrs. Bakewell, who pined away, homesick for her native England. But the time came when, on April 8, 1808, the two nature lovers became husband and wife. Then they began the long wanderings in the West and the South, the fruit of which was what has been called one of the most wonderful ornithological treatises ever made, Audubon's "Birds of America."