speckled breast, from an evergreen twig Of
the low pine-scrub.

And, once more, the aping response
the counterfeit thrush-note, came from
some little branch of that goodly green
tree known as the White Birch Group.

"Who's doing it? Oh-h! who's doing
it--answering?" breathed Pemrose Lorry,
feeling thrown into the shade with her
Thunder Bird; which wasn't altogether
bad for her, either. "Oh! it's you, is it?
Where 's the whistle--the bird-caller's
whistle?"

"Here. Look!" A maiden shy as a
hermit-thrush herself, with rufous lights
in her sleek brown hair, and tiny, red-brown
specks flecking the iris of her eyes
-corresponding to the many freckles upon
her small face, with a luminous quality
added--opened a volunteering palm.

In its concave hollow, also marbled with
sun-spots, lay the magic whistle, the tw??
gleaming tin disks about the size of
fifty-cent piece, joined one upon another
[[110]]

p109 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p110w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p111

v?