“Yes, Ruth, I will prove it to you some day. Something has stirred in my heart that has never wakened before. It is like a great, deep longing--not for anything that I can really put into words, but--it seems as if sometime, somewhere, I must have seen something, and my longing is to see and to find it again, whatever it was, so that I may show it to you.” The little olive-green bird chirped upon the pine twig. There was one note in his song that seemed to stir David’s memory. “Listen, Ruth!” he cried; “catch that bird’s note. Listen!” They both waited, and the bird sang again. David’s eyes shone. “Oh, Ruth,” he cried, “there is one note in that song that seems almost divine!” Ruth sang the bird’s song, in a voice sweet and clear, but very soft. “Good!” cried David. “Now hold that note.” Ruth held the note that had especially caught the boy’s ear. David looked at her as she sang. Then, all at once, a wave of memory swept over him. “I have it, Ruth! It is the note in the Blue Bird’s song. Oh, how could I forget it all this time?” Then, as if in answer to his cry, far up in the topmost branches of the pine tree came the song of the Blue Bird, clear, sweet, unmistakable. David sprang to his feet. “My Bird! My beautiful Bird!” he cried, “where are you?” He sought eagerly among the branches above him. The song came almost uninterruptedly, and David followed each note. At last his eye caught the sunlight on the iridescent wings; he fell on his knees, eager face upturned to the tiny woodland creature. Yes, it was the Blue Bird, the same wondrous and exquisite being that he had known and followed so faithfully, and then forgotten. A vision drifted before his eyes ... the little cottage in which he had been born ... the woodlands ... the beautiful little old lady to whom he had brought the water, and then ... the Blue Bird. Yes, there it was again. He lifted his hands and stretched them upwards, up toward the clear blue sky and the great sun above. “I must follow the Bird!” he cried. “Now I know and understand the longing in my heart.” He rose from his knees and returned to Ruth. He found her sitting upon the ground, the chain of forget-me-nots looped round her, the crown which they had made still lending its beauty to her golden hair. Her head rested against the rough bark of the pine tree. Her hands lay folded in her lap; her eyes were closed, and tears had left their trail unheeded upon her cheeks. “Ruth!” he whispered, “you have been weeping.” She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. The lashes, he saw, were still heavy with tears. “Yes,” she answered simply. “The song is so beautiful--! I never knew before that one _could_ weep because a thing is beautiful, but the tears seem to come from deep down--deeper down than any tears that I have ever known. I have no wish to sob as one does in sorrow, but I could not help weeping. It is the strangest experience I have ever had.”