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and he gave my father some of his early drawings of Kentucky birds. Georgiana has them now, and that is where she gets her love of birds—from my father, who got his from the great, the very great Audubon.”
“Would Miss Cobb let me see these drawings?” I asked, eagerly.
“She might; but she prizes them as much as if they were stray leaves out of the only Bible in the world.”
As Sylvia turned inside out this pocket of her mind, there had dropped out a key to her sister’s conduct. Now I understood her slighting attitude towards my knowledge of birds. But I shall feel some interest in Miss Cobb from this time on. I never dreamed that she could bring me fresh news of that rare spirit whom I have so wished to see, and for one week in the woods with whom I would give any year of my life. Are they possibly the Henderson family to whom Au-
