HAPPY 



tive song. He seemed to summon his phrases from 

 the depths of despair. 



Twilight had now quite engulfed the world. Crip, 

 who had been for a time very still, began to stir rest- 

 lessly. 



"Happy, that is my passing song. How could the 

 bird have known that this very night I shall cleave 

 the air for the last time? Yes, I mean it. Please don't 

 interrupt me. The year has gone I have done my 

 work. I am a cripple, and my wings are tattered. I 

 shall be a burden, eating the food that may be needed 

 ere the harvest again is ripe. My time has come and 

 I must go into the dark. This is the law. Why should 

 not bees fly away and never return? How much 

 grander to pass away on the wing, hushed to sleep by 

 the stars. How poor a thing it is to cling to the 

 combs until death shall drag one down to the earth, 

 there to embarrass one's brothers. 



"My work is done. My body is wrecked, and the 

 golden call echoing from eternity is in my ears. I 

 must go. You, Happy, have much to do ere your 

 time shall come. But you will face life bravely. 



"How can I thank you enough for having saved 

 my life? Do you think I have done well? Have I 

 worked faithfully? Hero, you say? No, not a hero; 

 but I have tried to do the things that came to my 

 hand; and that is all that one can do. That sums 

 up the true meaning of life service and duty done. 



"Hear the bird! What a song for the night! Ah, 

 but what music I shall hear soon when I fly out 

 across the spaces of light! I am ready. I love you. 

 Farewell farewell." 



104 



