Mary Standish turned from the window with shining eyes.
"Every day the thrush comes and sings on our cabin roof," she said.
"It is--possibly--because you are here," he replied.
She regarded him seriously.

"I have thought of that.

You know, I have faith in a great many unbelievable things.

I can think of nothing more beautiful than the spirit that lives in the heart of a bird.

I am sure, if I were dying, I would like to have a bird singing near me.
Hopelessness cannot be so deep that bird-song will not reach it." He nodded, trying to answer in that way.