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 
