doleful songs as they moan and sigh around the 
sides of the big seal rock and shriek like witches 
along the heights of the cormorant cliffs. Of all 
the throngs of the summer bird-life, few if any re- 
main to face the icy blasts. Sometimes you may 
hear the raven’s croak from the frozen crags, 
and now and then a gull or an eider duck from 
the far north comes ashore; but the great, shout- 
ing feathered hosts of summer are gone. 
Hardheart is no longer seen in Matinicus 
harbor for the very simple reason that he has 
gone on a journey. The autumn after he lost 
his mate and nestlings he drifted along the coast 
until he came to Boston. He went about the 
wharves looking for food, but there were so 
many hungry mouths to be fed that he found it 
scarce and soon drifted over to the Charlestown 
Navy Yard. Some men, working on a big iron 
ship with cannons protruding from its port-holes, 
were sitting about eating their lunch. As 
Hardheart came alongside one of the men threw 
a fish head overboard, and he swooped to pick 
it up. There was a line attached to the fish 
head, but Hardheart took no notice of this until, 
LZ 
