72 More Tales of the Birds 



his feet, and he was flying really flying for the 

 first time in his life. He needed no teaching in 

 the art whether he would or no, fly he must. 

 Those growing quills were big enough to carry 

 him along with the wind, and he had only to 

 guide himself as well as he could. It was 

 glorious, and he felt no terror, for there was no 

 time to feel it. Over the black pool, past the 

 foot-bridge, over which he shot like one of the 

 Sandmartins which he had so often watched 

 with envy and admiration ; over the ford, now 

 impassable, and then, as the river made a 

 sharp curve, over field and hedge to the roar- 

 ing flood again where it turned once more 

 in the wind's direction. But those weak 

 wings were getting tired, and piping loudly 

 for help, he looked for some safe place to 

 drop upon. 



Suddenly the wind fell for an instant, and a 

 puff from the opposite direction brought him 

 to. He was over the very middle of the river : 

 a great boulder, water-splashed, lay just under 

 him. How he managed it I cannot tell, but 

 he dropped exhausted on the rough damp sur- 



