Malcolm would sleep that night with a joyful heart. He was
tolling the bird he imitated; it was coming at his call, of that there
could be no question. His last notes came from a screen of spreading
button bushes and northern holly. At the usual interval they heard the
reply, but recognizably closer. Malcolm raised his hand without moving or
looking back, but his father saw, and interpreted the gesture to mean that
the time had come for him to stop. He took a few steps to conceal himself,
for he was between trees when the signal came, and paused, already so
elated he wanted to shout; he scarcely could restrain the impulse. What
was the use in going farther? His desire was to race back to Multiopolis
at speed limit to tell Mr. Dovesky, Margaret, and Mr. Tower what a triumph
he had witnessed. He wanted to talk about it to his men friends and
business associates.
Distinctly, through the slowly darkening green, he could see the boy
putting all his heart into the song. James Minturn watched so closely he
was not mistaken in thinking he could see the lad's figure grow tense as
he delivered the notes, and relax when the answer relieved his anxiety as
to whether it would come again, and then gather for another trial.
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