Winslow.
She walked out of the room and closed the door. James Minturn sat thinking
a long time, then called his car and drove to Atwater alone. He found
Leslie in the orchard, a book of bird scores in her hands, and several
sheets of music beside her. Her greeting was so cordial, so frankly sweet
and womanly, he could scarcely endure it, because his head was filled with
thoughts of his wife.
"You are still at your bird study?" he asked.
"Yes. It's the most fascinating thing," she said.
"I know," he conceded. "I want the titles of the books you're using. I
mentioned it to Mr. Tower, our tutor, and he was interested instantly, and
far more capable of going at it intelligently than I am, because he has
some musical training. Ever since we talked it over he and the boys have
been at work in a crude way; you might be amused at their results, but to
me they are wonderful. They began hiding in bird haunts and listening,
working on imitations of cries and calls, and reproducing what they heard,
until in a few weeks' time--why I don't even know their repertoire, but
they can call quail, larks, owls, orioles, whip-poor-wills, so perfectly
they get answers.
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