BIRD STORIES 



above them and the waters lay underneath. The stars 

 shone clear, but they knew not one from another. No 

 guide, no pilot, no compass, such as we can understand, 

 gave aid through the hours of their flight. But do you 

 think they were afraid? Afraid of the dark, of the water, 

 of the miles? Listen, in your fancy, and hear them call 

 to one another. ^' Chink, '^ they say; and though we do 

 not know just what this means, we can tell from the 

 sound that it is not a note of fear. And why fear? There 

 was no storm to buffet them that night. They passed 

 near no dazzling lighthouse, to bewilder them. No dan- 

 ger threatened, and something called them straight and 

 steady on their way. 



Oh, they were wonderful, that band! Perhaps among 

 all living creatures of the world there is nothing more 

 wonderful than a bird in his migrant flight — a bird 

 whose blood is fresh with the air he breathes as only a 

 bird can breathe ; whose health is strong with the whole- 

 some feast that he takes when and where he finds it; 

 whose wings hold him in perfect flight through unweary 

 miles; whose life is led, we know not how, on, on, on, and 

 ever in the right direction. 



Yes, Bob was wonderful when he flew from the moun- 

 tains of Jamaica to the great savannas of Venezuela ; but 

 he made no fuss about it — seemed to feel no special 

 pride. All he said was, '' Chink, '^ in the same matter-of- 



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