It was a gay, brief, jaunty thing, but pure, joyous, gallant, liquid melody.

There was dainty bravado in it, saucy demand and allurement.

It was addressed to some invisible hearer of the tender sex, and wheresoever she might be hidden--whether in great branch or low thicket or hedge--there was hinted no doubt in her small wooer's note that she would hear it and in due time respond.

Mount Dunstan, listening, even laughed at its confident music.

The tiny thing uttering its Call of the World--jubilant in the surety of answer! Having flung it forth, he paused a moment and waited, his small head turned sideways, his big, round, dew-bright black eye roguishly attentive.