Annette - The Metis Spy

"Dear bird, you have lost your mate, and are crying for her," the

girl said, stretching out her little brown hand compassionately

toward the crouching songster. "Your companions have gone to the

South, and you wait here, trusting that your mate will come back, and

not journey to summer lands without you. Is not that so, my poor

bird? Ah, would that I could go with you where there are always

flowers, and ever can be heard the ripple of little brooks. Here the

leaves will soon fall, ah, me! and the daisies wither; and, instead

of the delight of summer, we shall have only the cry of hungry

wolves, and the bellowing of bitter winds above the lonesome plains.

But could I go to the South, there is no one who would sing over my

absence one lamenting note, as you sing, my bird, for the mate with

whom you had so many hours of sweet love-making in these prairie

thickets. Nobody loves me, woos me, cares for me, or sings about me.

I am not even as the wild rose here, though it seems to be alone, and

is forbidden to take its walk; for it holds up its bright face and

can see its lover; and he breathes back upon the kind, willing,

breeze-puffs, through all the summer, sweet-scented love messages,

tidings of a matrimony as delicious as that of the angels."

She stood up, and raised her arms above her head yearningly. The

autumn wind was cooing in her hair, and softly swaying its silken

meshes.

"Farewell, my desolate one; may your poor little heart be gladder

soon. Could I but be a bird, and you would have me for a companion,

your lamenting should not be for long. We should journey, loitering

and love-making all the long sweet way, from here to the South, and

have no repining."

Turning around, she perceived two men standing close beside her. She

became very confused, and clutched for her robe to cover her face,

but she had strayed away among the flowers without it. Very deeply

she blushed that the strangers should have heard her; and she spake

not.

"Bonjour, ma belle fille." It was the tall commanding one who had

addressed her. He drew closer, and she, in a very low voice, her

olive face stained with a faint flush of crimson, answered, "Bonjour, Monsieur."

"Be not abashed. We heard what you were saying to the bird, and I

think the sentiments were very pretty."

This but confused the little prairie beauty all the more. But the

gallant stranger took no heed of her embarrassment.