was as a living creature, what thoughts were 

 in his head and what feelings in his heart 

 when he was far from men, in his own home 

 where he could be himself, — that problem 

 nobody answered. Something to be killed, 

 rather than a living thing to be known and 

 understood, was what met the boy at every 

 turn and hushed his questions. And always 

 in the spring, when the wild call of the wide 

 voyagers floated down from the blue heavens, 

 and the boy's eyes followed eagerly the rush 

 of the great living wedge sweeping north- 

 ward to love and liberty, something new 

 and strange, yet familiar as the spring or 

 the sunrise, stirred and awoke in the boy's 

 heart and made him long to follow. 



That is no strange experience, I think. 



Something stirs in the hearts of most ._ 



men, and sweeps the years away and :'" ; :. 

 makes them boys again, with the «s*^: •' •'/ : -^r. 

 impulse to wander and to do ! A tSjjjfeO-'/. 

 splendid things far away, when i^ : 

 the first jubilant trumpet clangor j ; 

 of the wild goose comes down to i '■■<, 

 them in the spring twilight. 



197 



In Quest of 



or* 



