When she had unbolted and opened the big front door, Gulliver bounded out and went racing around the lawn in a dance of circles, but Portia walked slowly down the broad new steps, sniffing the air. M-m-m, lilies of the valley. She let her nose lead her to where they grew, spread in a vast green carpet under the apple trees. I was sure they'd all be gone by now, she thought. Of course then she had to stop and pick a big wet bunch of them, admiring their crispness and freshness: each little staff of bells trimmed with two broad leaves, like rabbits' ears. The air rang with the energetic, joyful clamor of the birds. Only one, whose song came sweetly through the others, sounded meditative and solitary: three minor notes ascending. She wondered what it was. A lively clanking caused her to turn her head: there came Julian along the drive, his camera, his field glasses, his collecting case, his lunch box, and a small canteen all draped about his person. No wonder he clanked more than usual. "So early?" Portia said, surprised. "The birds. I'm used to them, but they even woke me up, so I was positive they'd wake _you_ up. I thought we'd better get started early; we've got a lot of work to do." "We have?" "Why, sure. We have to get the club fixed up, don't we? No one's cleaned it since September." "Good," Portia said; that was the one sort of house cleaning she enjoyed. "And Mother's given us some things from here to decorate it with!" "Great. Foster can help carry." Through the tangles of singing came the one sweet song. "What's that bird, Jule? That sort of sad one?" Julian listened. "White-throated sparrow," he told her. Honestly, that boy knows everything, Portia thought, but she didn't say so. "I wish it had a prettier name." She sighed. "Hear how pretty it sounds." "One's all right, maybe ... yes, it sounds nice, it really does ... but a bunch of them together can drive you nuts." There was never more than one, though, all that month, and every day Portia listened for its song. It meant something special to her, perhaps because it was the little music of this first lovely morning.... Finally the racket of the birds even got through to Foster, and he woke up. Hearing conversation just below his window, he hopped up and looked out to see his sister and his cousin; then he, also in his pajamas, ran down the stairs and out of doors to join them. "Hi, Fang!" Julian greeted him. "How are you today?" "I have scrofulous humours," Foster said. "You have _what_?" "Something she read off a bottle," Foster explained, indicating his sister. "I haven't really got them. I don't think I have." "I don't think so either." "Well, I'm going up to dress," Portia said. "My pajama legs are soaked with dew. Have you had breakfast, Jule?" "Ye-es." Julian sounded doubtful. "But--" "But you could eat another one, you mean?" "If Aunt Barbara wouldn't mind...."