200 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



be enough to turn one's face to the mist in such 

 a spot, and to know that one was part of this 

 primordial life, cast up here, as the first life of 

 the land had been cast, by the lift of the sea! 



But how much more to lie here listening for 

 the chitter of a small voice and for the fanning 

 of small wings that know no dread, that have 

 spanned the sweep of oceans, and outridden the 

 wildest gales ! I wanted to witness their coming 

 home, to see, if possible, in the thick twilight of 

 the summit, their shadows hovering over the slope, 

 to hear their chittering at the mouth of the bur- 

 rows, telling their mates that they had returned 

 from their day and night upon the sea. 



This petrel of Three-Arch Rocks digs its nest- 

 ing-burrow in the earth and lays one egg. The 

 burrow might hold both birds together, but only 

 one bird is ever found in the nest-hole. While 

 one is brooding, the other is off on its tireless 

 wings — away off in the wake of your steamer, 

 miles and miles from shore. All night it has been 

 a-wing, and all day, but, as darkness begins to 

 fall again, it remembers its mate and its nest on 

 the rocks and speeds with the wing of the twi- 

 light to its own, to taiie its place in the little 



