The Wild Geese of Wyndygoul 
Blackneck was turned a little to take him in and 
then go on unheeding. Once or twice there were 
sounds that stirred the lonely watcher to a bugle 
call, but short and soon suppressed. It was sad to 
see him then, and sadder still as we pondered, for 
this we knew: his family never would come back. 
Tamed, made trustful by life where men were kind, 
they had gone to the land of gunners, crafty, piti- 
less and numberless: they would learn too late the 
perils of the march. Next, he never would take 
another mate, for the Wild Goose mates for life, 
and mates but once: the one surviving has no 
choice—he finishes his journey alone. 
Poor old Blackneck, his very faithfulness it was 
that made for endless loneliness. 
The bright days came with melting snow. The 
floods cut through the ice, and again there were 
part of the Jake and answered back: 
“Honk, Honk, come back, 
Come back. Come back!” 
but the flying squads passed on with a passing 
“honk!” 
’ Brighter still the days, and the gander paddled 
with a little exultation in the opening pond. How 
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