"But they do tell each other,"claimed the boy,with sparkling eyes."They must!For,all of a sudden,some night,you'll hear the signal,and then they'll begin to gather from all directions.
I've seen them.Then,suddenly,they're all up and off to the South--not in one big flock,but broken up into little flocks,following one after another,with such a beautiful whir of wings.
Oof--OOF--OOF!--and they're gone!And I don't see them again till next year.But you've seen the swallows,haven't you?They go in the daytime,and they're the easiest to tell of any of them.They fly so swift and straight.Haven't you seen the swallows go?""Why,I--I don't know,David,"murmured Mrs.Holly,with a helpless glance at her husband stalking on ahead."I--I didn't know there were such things to--to know."There was more,much more,that David said before the walk came to an end.And though,when it did end,neither Simeon Holly nor his wife said a word of its having been a pleasure or a profit,there was yet on their faces something of the peace and rest and quietness that belonged to the woods they had left.
It was a beautiful month--that September,and David made the most of it.Out of school meant out of doors for him.He saw Mr.Jack and Jill often.He spent much time,too,with the Lady of the Roses.She was still the Lady of the ROSES to David,though in the garden now were the purple and scarlet and yellow of the asters,salvia,and golden glow,instead of the blush and perfume of the roses.
David was very much at home at Sunnycrest.He was welcome,he knew,to go where he pleased.Even the servants were kind to him,as well as was the elderly cousin whom he seldom saw,but who,he knew,lived there as company for his Lady of the Roses.
Perhaps best,next to the garden,David loved the tower room;possibly because Miss Holbrook herself so often suggested that they go there.And it was there that they were when he said,dreamily,one day:--"I like this place--up here so high,only sometimes it does make me think of that Princess,because it was in a tower like this that she was,you know.""Fairy stories,David?"asked Miss Holbrook lightly.
"No,not exactly,though there was a Princess in it.Mr.Jack told it."David's eyes were still out of the window.
"Oh,Mr.Jack!And does Mr.Jack often tell you stories?""No.He never told only this one--and maybe that's why I remember it so.""Well,and what did the Princess do?"Miss Holbrook's voice was still light,still carelessly preoccupied.Her attention,plainly,was given to the sewing in her hand.
"She didn't do and that's what was the trouble,"sighed I David.
"She didn't wave,you know."
The needle in Miss Holbrook's fingers stopped short in mid-air,the thread half-drawn.
"Didn't--wave!"she stammered."What do you--mean?""Nothing,"laughed the boy,turning away from the window."Iforgot that you didn't know the story."
"But maybe I do--that is--what was the story?"asked Miss Holbrook,wetting her lips as if they had grown suddenly very dry.
