Whenever I heard the song of a bird and the answering call of its mate, I could visualize the notes in scale, all built up within my consciousness as a natural symphony.

Human atoms are the notes, their life the symphony.

The name of my ailment was longing, and it was not cured till I finally went to the department store and counted out the money in small coins before the dismayed clerk. When I came to the house, I held up the instrument before the eyes of the astonished household.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,Or but a wandering voice?

She was only half Bird now, and the other half song. She liked it that way.

We have received correspondence from Hughie, we've responded to that answering his questions and haven't heard from him since then.