The Stork could say so much without a word, it owned no sacred song it wished to sing. The way it moved its head, or held a wing told us that it had more than merely heard, but understood as well, yet still preferred to keep its peace, if this should chance to bring into the world some quieter, subtler thing, and we, in hoping that it might, concurred; then, in our watching, found ourselves absurd, to see the ignorance to which we cling. We could no more abjure the life of spring than to deny the truth we then inferred. If ever dignity has been conferred we saw it there within this simple bird.