"It's _exactly_ in his line. Years ago when I was a little girl he proved it. One evening at dusk I was sitting in an arbor when he, not suspecting my presence, alighted within a few feet of me and began his song. It was wonderfully interesting to watch his little throat puff and puff with the notes as they poured forth, but the thing that astounded me was the length of time he sang without ever pausing for breath. And so he is a genuine spieler. I will add, however, that the line is 'When listening to a whippoorwill _singing_.' But my literary conscience will never let me rhyme _singing_ with _feeling_, hence the sudden change." "Now I'll speak _my_ piece," announced the doctor: "De frogs in de pon' am a singin' all de night; Wid de hallelujah campmeetin' tune; An' dey all seem to try wid deir heart, soul and might To tell us ob de comin' of de June." "_Aren't_ they having a hallelujah chorus over in that meadow, though!" Darkness settled over the earth. The willow trees, skirting the road for a little distance, lifted themselves in ghostly tracery against the starlit sky. A soft breeze stirred their branches like the breath of a gentle spirit abiding there. They passed a cozy farmhouse nestled down among tall trees. Through the open door they could see a little white-robed figure being carried to bed in its father's arms, while the mother crooned a lullaby over the cradle near. For a long time they drove in silence. Mary knew that her husband was in deep thought. Of what was he thinking? The pretty home scene in the farm house had sent him into a reverie. He went back five or six years to a bright spring day. He was sitting alone in his office when an old man, a much respected farmer, came in slowly, closed the door behind him and sat down. The doctor who knew him quite well saw that he was troubled and asked if there was anything he could do for him. The old man leaned his head on his hand but did not reply. It seemed that no words would come in which to tell his errand. Puzzled and sympathetic the doctor sat silent and waited. In a little while the farmer drew his chair very near to that of the doctor's and said in a low voice, "Doctor, I'm in deep trouble. I come to you because you are one of my best friends. You have a chance to prove it now such as you never had before in all the years you've been our doctor." "Tell me your trouble and if I can help you, I will certainly do so." "It's Mary. She's gone wrong, and the disgrace will kill her mother if she finds it out." For an instant the doctor did not speak; then he asked, "Are you sure that this is true?" "Yes. She came to me last night and nestled down in my arms, just as she's done every night since she was a baby. She cried like her heart would break and then she said, 'Father, I _must_ tell you, but don't tell mother'; and then she told me." The old man, white and trembling, looked beseechingly at the doctor.