8 
THE STRANGELAND BIRD LIFE 
proud of it—that is, he is a wanderer. Just at this 
moment he was going dreamily over the jour¬ 
neys he had taken across the wild and restless 
sea. The cold and rock-bound coast of Green¬ 
land, the stormy English channel, the balmy 
southern isles—all these and many more passed 
before his vision. O yes, Stormy was a trav¬ 
eler; and tramp or no tramp, he wasn’t such a 
bad bird, after all. He never robbed the homes 
of his comrades. Oh, he might take a bite to 
eat now and then, but that was customary, you 
know. Stormy never looked into windows at 
night or jumped out from bushes to frighten 
little children, and he never prowled about 
homes when the men folks were gone, so you 
may well guess he was a very model sort of 
tramp, if tramp he were at all. 
But Stormy was troubled just this moment. 
Here he was, far, far to the north in Alaska. 
Here he had camped during the short summer, 
