Celeste once again climbed up to the bed rail and began gnawing at the leather tie.

She stopped for a moment.

“Look,” she said. “I’ve got an idea. You’re going to think it’s a bit odd, but please trust me.”

“Okeydokey, sugar plum, I trust you. What’s the idea?”

“When Monsieur Audubon returns, he’s going to sketch you again, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And he’s going to try over and over, and get very frustrated, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And he’s going to try and capture your beauty with pencil and paper, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And if he doesn’t get it right, you may end up stuffed and pinned, correct?”

“I prefer not to think about that, if you don’t mind, peach blossom.”

Celeste giggled. “Well, so, you need to help him!”

“Come again?”

“Pose! Be yourself, but pose. Help him out.”

“Help him out? He’s got me tied up here like a prisoner, and you want me to help him out?”

“Would you do it, for me?”

“Well, what’ll I do, darlin’?” queried the osprey. “Jump up and down? Clamor around like a parakeet? I’m new at this, you know.”

“Pretend that you’re on top of the tallest sycamore tree you can think of,” said Celeste, hardly daring to whisper. “Like you’re just about to scream out across the river. Wings up! Look excited! Look dangerous! Look…alive!”

Lafayette pondered for a moment, then he raised his wings and opened his beak as if to call out.

“The back wing up, the wing in front down a bit,” directed Celeste.

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg! Why in the world would I do this?”

“Hold it right there!” whispered Celeste. “That’s it! Don’t move a feather!”

The osprey froze in place. “Like this? You sure? I feel ridiculous!”

“You look great! This is going to be perfect!”

“He’s going to think I’m about to attack!”

As if on cue, the heavy tread of Mr. Audubon’s boots could be heard climbing the stairs, then walking down the hallway.

“Shh! He’s coming back! Don’t move!” squeaked Celeste as she scampered to a hiding place.

The boots turned into the studio doorway.

“Mon Dieu!” Audubon gasped, staring at the osprey. “C’est ça! Parfait! Toi! Le beau spécimen! You are magnificent!” He stared for nearly a minute, then grabbed a large piece of watercolor paper and a handful of pencils and began to sketch.

There, in front of her, Celeste watched as Lafayette’s body and wings began to form on the paper. Only an outline at first, but feathers, streaks, spots, and other details soon followed. Audubon’s pencil raced in every direction; his eyes, bright with excitement, studied the bird’s every feather.

He drew a gaping beak, opened as though screaming across a valley, and wings outstretched in flight. “I’ll put a fish in your talons, like you have just pulled it from the Mississippi,” he said out loud.

Next, out came a wooden box of watercolors.

Celeste couldn’t help herself as she crawled out from behind the paint box. Mesmerized, she watched Audubon use a variety of soft brushes and an old shaving mug filled with water as he transformed the penciled outline into an osprey full of chocolate brown and tawny cream. A golden yellow eye blazed fiercely. He added a background sky of cool blues.

At last the artist sat back. He stretched his long arms and smiled at the osprey.

“Merci, my friend,” he said; and he lay on the bed, asleep within several ticks of a clock.

Lafayette blinked and lowered his wings. He glanced over at the paint box lid. Celeste smiled approvingly.