HONK, HONK, HONK! 97 



legs and no wings ; and we had heard the wild sky- 

 call, had heard and followed through our open win- 

 dows, through the dark of the night, up into the blue 

 vault under the light of the stars. 



Round and dim swung the earth below us, hushed 

 and asleep in the soft arms of the night. Hill and 

 valley lay close together, farm-land and wood-land, 

 all wrapped in the coverlet of the dark. City and 

 town, like watch fires along the edge of a sleeping 

 camp, burned bright on the rivers and brighter still 

 on the ragged line of shore and sea, for we were far 

 away near the stars. The mountains rose up, but 

 they could not reach us; the white lakes beckoned, 

 but they could not call us down. For the stars were 

 bright, the sky-coast was clear, the wind in our 

 wings was the keen, wild wind of the North, and the 

 call that we heard — ah! who knows the call? Yet, 

 who does not know it — that distant haunting call 

 to fly, fly, fly? 



I found myself in my bed the next morning. I 

 found the small boys in their beds. I found the big 

 round sun in the sky that morning and not a star in 

 sight! There was nothing unusual to be seen up 

 there, nothing mysterious at all. But there was some- 

 thing unusual, something mysterious to be seen in 

 the four small faces at the breakfast-table that morn- 

 ing — eyes all full of stars and deep with the far, 

 dark depths of the midnight sky into which they had 

 gazed — into which those four small boys had flown ! 



