was out of sight, but they kept on as best they 
could in the same direction until finally, fearing 
they might be getting off their course, they 
stopped the engine and drifted. Almost at 
once the shout of a gull came through the fog. 
Hardheart had screamed for some reason they 
could not explain, and again they went on. The 
next time they stopped they heard the sound of 
many voices screaming and calling together, and 
they knew that just before them lay the gull city 
of No-Man’s-Land. When they reached it they 
had no difficulty in finding their way home. 
“How about shooting Hardheart?’’ asked 
Mark’s companion as they climbed the hill 
together; but Mark only smiled, for in the dis- 
tance he heard the evening song of the hermit 
thrush. 
Itt 
WHEN winter arrives on the coast of Maine, 
No-Man’s-Land is a bleak and dreary place. 
The gales that sweep in from the sea set the 
stunted evergreens swaying, and hurl the frozen 
spray high up the rocky shores. They sing 
16 
