OLD TRAMP STORMY PETREL 
101 
“Why shouldn’t I be?” exclaimed the 
stranger. “I haven’t a care in the world. 
Not a care!” 
“What’s your name?” Baby asked timidly. 
“Stormy Petrel. Some people call me a 
tramp, but I’m not really a tramp. I’m just 
a wanderer, a traveler, if you like it that 
way better.” The stranger’s face grew sud¬ 
denly dreamy. “It’s a great life I lead too,” 
he mused, his eyes half closed. “I am going 
just now to a little cliff I know of far north 
of here, and there while the summer is hot 
and stuffy in other lands I shall camp out 
for a time. But when the first sharp winds 
of winter come, I shall take the breezes 
south. I shall catch the wake of some sail¬ 
ing schooner or a steamer from Nome, and 
the sailors will be glad to see me, for they 
say I bring them good luck. I shall sail 
along in their wake and they will gladly 
feed me. Far to new southern lands rich 
in spicy breezes I shall go and then on and 
on, no one knows where, but always on and 
on, till summer comes again and I seek my 
