226 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



clouds of low-lying mist, they found at last the nest 

 of the bald eagle for which they were searching. 

 It was in the top of a towering sour-gum tree, and the 

 great birds circled around, giving futile little cries 

 that sounded like the squeaking of a slate pencil. 

 As it was too misty to photograph the nest and the 

 birds, the party started off exploring until the light 

 became better. 



Following the song of a fox sparrow, the dreamer 

 became separated from the others in the mist, and 

 after plashing through half-frozen morasses, found 

 himself on the barren shore of the bay itself. As he 

 stood there, with the white mist curling around him 

 like smoke, from the sea came a clamor of voices. 

 Nearer and nearer it swept, until a wild trumpeting 

 sounded not thirty feet above his head. Around 

 and around the clanging chorus swept, while, stare 

 as he would, he could not spy even a feather of the 

 flock so close above him. At the sound the years 

 rolled back. Once again he was in the clover field in 

 the gray twilight. Once again, on a far-away hillside, 

 he heard that other chorus of his dreams. For a 

 moment, in the lonely mist by the sea, he had a 

 strange illusion that the life of which that cold 

 hillside was a memory was the reality, and the 

 present the dream. 



It takes five years to understand Eskimo. It takes 

 a long lifetime to learn bird-language. At any time, 

 in any place, the collector of bird-notes may hear 

 an unknown bird or a strange song from a known 



