THE MELANCHOLY CRANE 



petalled centres, stirred under the wanton 

 kisses of the bold winds. Hardly the 

 grave moccasin moved from the blackened 

 log where he lay, as the old blue crane 

 dropped down to his accustomed place. 

 Silence was there, and wildness. Nothing 

 more. 



But there came a day when all this was 

 changed. A boat crept up into the reeds, 

 and as the bird, disturbed by the rustle of a 

 skiff, sprang up and out from his hiding- 

 place of tall marsh-grass, a report sounded, 

 and the stricken crane fell to the marsh. And 

 the hand of a hunter drew him to the boat, 

 and the mist from the marsh rose and met 

 the sun and faded away. And there was a 

 long interval, and then a miracle of skill and 

 science, and again the great bird stood erect 

 in a glass case, and beside him was his lost 

 mate. For the same hunter had killed both, 

 and his hand had been the one which had set 

 them in the glass case, and so even in death 

 they had not been separated. And many 

 people came to see them, and there was a 

 learned professor who told of their habits 

 and their life as birds, much of which he had 



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