DAYS OF AUTUMN 171 



urged and directed by the ancient instinct 

 developed long before Zoroaster came 

 from the plains of Iran with his Magian 

 worship. 



The next morning when I went to bid 

 them farewell the lake was deserted. My 

 friends had gone, and I had not said good- 

 bye. During the night a wind had risen, 

 and they had fled before it to the warm 

 south. I prayed that their strength did 

 not fail while the little things were over the 

 cold gray sea. I could do no more. But 

 my heart was heavy. 



When the migrants have departed the 

 fires of autumn throw their flames and 

 falling shadows rapidly over the country- 

 side. In the morning moisture drip-drips 

 from the trees, their tops are wraithed in 

 mist, and the jay screams as he lurks among 

 the acorns. Every day the sun describes 

 a lower curve and, red and small, looms 

 through the vapours. But above he is 

 spinning and carding the mist, warmth 



