When the wonderful performance was at an end, and the veery had taken wing, Claire turned to her silent, but questioning. Martha considered a moment. "When a cow lifts up his head, an’ gets ready to bella, what with its size an’ stren’th, you’re prepared for the worst, an’—you get it. But when a tiny little fella, as innercent-lookin’ as that very bird you say is the Wilson’s thrush, when _he_ sits up an’ lets a flute-sola out of’m, as elegant as the man in the band, down to the movies, well, it certaintly _is_ surprisin’. It somehow hits you right in the pit of the stummick. My! but I bet the Wilsons is sorry he flew away on’m." Mrs. Ronald turned quickly to examine a bit of lichen, decorating a tree-trunk near at hand. When she faced Martha again, her cheeks were quite crimson. "Say, you hadn’t ought to bend down like that a hot day like this," cautioned Mrs. Slawson. "You got a rush o’ brains to the head, I should say blood. You want to go easy such hot wather. I guess the walkin’ took it out o’ you." "Oh, no," Claire assured her heartily. "I’m not a bit tired. And I tell you what I want to do some day soon. I want to go across the lake to the South cove. They say there’s a blue heron there. I’m crazy to see him." Martha nodded. "Well, if Lord Ronald is willin’——" "He says he’ll take me over in the launch, and you can go too, and the children. We’ll have a beautiful picnic some day very soon, and, if you thought she would go, we might ask Miss Crewe, and——" "She couldn’t leave her gran’ma for so long. P’raps if you’d put it off till the fall——" Miss Claire shook her head. "No, I’m going now," she said determinedly. "Well, I’ll go any day you say, then—so Lord Ronald’s willin’. I can help’m with the la’nch. I know all about _The Moth’s_ machinery, if I don’t about the cow’s. An’ when it comes to that, I could milk all right, all right, if I only knew what to turn on to make the milk come. It’s on account o’ the cow’s not havin’ her gear arranged so’s a body can push a button, or pull a crank like a Christian, I have so much differculty. You can take it from me, autos an’ la’nchs is simple by comparising. But what’s really on my mind to say is, any mornin’ you wish to see your red herrin’, just say the word, an’ I’ll take you, though I tell you frank an’ honest, if I was you, beggin’ your pardon for the liberty, I’d stay on dry land myself, these days, an’ not be botherin’ my head over delicatessens, which you can get’m sent up, canned, by Park an’ Tilford any day, with your next order." "Mother! Mother!" Francie’s shrill, childish voice announced her but a second before she herself appeared around the tangle of bushes hedging the mouth of the ravine. "Mother, mother!" she repeated, even after she saw the familiar form she sought. "Well?" Martha spoke calmly, undisturbed either by the child’s heated face or manner.