nt upon its shores--the same Hudson Arthur knew
as a busy thoroughfare of puffing steamers and chugging launches.
Two or three small streams wandered unconcernedly across the land
that Arthur had known as the most closely built-up territory on
earth. And far, far below him--Arthur had to lean well out of his
window to see it--stood a collection of tiny wigwams. Those small
bark structures represented the original metropolis of New York.

His telephone rang. Van Deventer was on the wire. The exchange in
the building was still working. Van Deventer wanted Arthur to come
down to his private office. There were still a great many things to
be settled--the arrangements for commandeering offices for sleeping
quarters for the women, and numberless other details. The men who
seemed to have best kept their heads were gathering there to settle
upon a course of action.

Arthur glanced out of the window again before going to the
elevator. He saw a curiously compact dark cloud moving swiftly
across the sky to the west.

"Miss Woodward," he said sharply, "What is that?"

Estelle came to the window and looked.

"They are birds," she told him. "Birds flying in a group. I've
often seen them in the country, though never as many as that."

"How do you catch birds?" Arthur asked her. "I know about shooting
them, and so on, but we haven't guns enough to count. Could we
catch them in traps, do you think?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Estelle thoughtfully. "But it would
be hard to catch many."

"Come down-stairs," directed Arthur. "You know as much as any of
the men here, and more than most, apparently. We're going to make
you show us how to catch things."

Estelle smiled, a trifle wanly. Arthur led the way to the
elevator. In the car he noticed that she looked distressed.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "You aren't really frightened,
are you?"

"No," she answered shakily, "but--I'm rather upset about this
thing. It's so--so terrible, somehow, to be back here, thousands
of miles, or years, away from all one's friends and everybody."

"Please"--Arthur smiled encouragingly at her--"please count me your
friend, won't you?"

She nodded, but blinked back some tears. Arthur would have tried to
hearten her further, but the elevator stopped at their floor. They
walked into the room where the meeting of cool heads was to take
place.

No more than a dozen men were in there talking earnestly but
dispiritedly. When Arthur and Estel