life went on in this way for many days, and the birds had all stopped singing. there were no more happy concerts at sunrise and no more carols at evening; only chirrupings and twitterings as the feathered people hopped restlessly from one perch to another. all could see that they were busily thinking and had no time for music. the truth was that each bird who was not to spend the winter in the forest felt as though something were drawing drawing drawing him southward. it was something they could not see or hear, and yet it was drawing drawing drawing all day and all night. they spoke of it often to each other, and the older birds told the young ones how, before long, they would all start south, and fly over land and water until they reached their winter home.