The hills
shimmered. Not far away were masses of dark clouds which
stretched across a valley and seemed to rest on the opposite
hills and sink in a dense mass into a farther valley. Presently
we saw a white sheet of rain drifting rapidly toward us. We drew
out to the side of the road beneath some small hickory trees and
quickly put on the curtains and proceeded to eat our luncheon
during the storm. The rain came down in torrents, but was soon
over. We unfastened the curtains that we might have a better
view of the birds that emerged from their leafy coverts and sang
all about us. The noon sun was lighting up a million gleaming
tears that hung to the leaves, so quiet was the atmosphere. The
storm was still rumbling not far away across the hills, where a
lovely bow spanned the sky. Vapors hung just above the tree
tops, seething like smoke from hidden chimneys.
How the birds rejoiced after the shower! Two cardinals woke the
echoes with their wild, ringing calls. Indigo buntings, using
the telephone wires as a point from which to start messages,
sent them out in all directions. These, if not so important as
those of men, were more pleasant to hear. The summery call of a
turtle dove came dreamily through the forest; while nearer,
towhees filled the place with their "fine explosive trills."
Down in the ravine chats were uttering their strange notes, so
weird that they won from the Indians the name of "ghost bird.
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