For fifteen minutes the blessed
bird sang, and at each rendition of its full strain, it seemed to grow
more intoxicated with its own performance. Finishing the last notes
perfectly, the bird gave a hop, glanced around as if he were saying: "Now
any one who thinks he can surpass that, has my permission to try." From a
bush a small gray bird meouwed in derision and accepted the challenge. The
watchers could not see him, but he came so close singing the same song
that he deceived Mr. Dovesky, for he said: "He's going to do it over from
the bushes now!"
"Listen!" cautioned Malcolm. "Don't you hear the difference? He starts the
same, but he runs higher, he drops lower, and does it quicker, and I think
the notes clearer and sweeter when the little gray fellow sings them, and
you should see his nest! Do you like him better?"
"Humph!" said Mr. Dovesky. "Why I was so entranced with the first
performance I didn't suppose anything could be better. I must have time to
learn both songs, and analyze and compare.
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