CHAPTER XVII 



MIGRATION OF BIRDS 



THE flock of wild Geese flying high, like 

 specks against the grey November sky, 

 is one of the greatest wonders in the 

 world of feathered things. They have come 

 from their home in the far distant Arctic, and 

 there among the clouds they are heading 

 straight for their winter home hundreds of 

 miles away. For weeks before the Geese fly 

 south, flock after flock of smaller birds have 

 been going, some disappearing in the late sum- 

 mer, others in the early autumn, others when 

 cold winds are blowing and the Geese are fly- 

 ing south. The few migrants that are left are 

 gathering in flocks and any morning we may 

 find them gone. Where do they go, and how 

 do they find the way? 



In the old days when the Redmen sat about 

 their campfires watching the shadows grow 

 deeper, they pondered over such great mys- 

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