ilvery rattle of the birches, and the deep roar from
oaks and beech woods. The sound of a forest was like the shouting of the
sea.

But far more lovely, when they descended a little, and the wind was more
gentle, were the low pipings among the reeds and the little wayward
murmurs under the hedgerows.

The pine trees, however, drew them most, with their weird voices, now
far away, now near, rising upwards with a wind of sighs.

There was a grove of these trees that trooped down to the waters of a
little lake in the hills, and to this spot they often flew when the wind
was low and the music likely, therefore, to be to their taste. For, even
when there was no perceptible wind, these trees seemed always full of
mysterious, mournful whisperings; their branches held soft music that
never quite died away, even when all other trees were silent and
motionless.

Besides these special expeditions, they flew everywhere and anywhere.
They visited the birds in their nests in lofty trees, and exchanged the
time of night with wise-eyed owls staring out upon them from the ivy.
They hovered up the face of great cliffs, and passed the hawks asleep on
perilous ledges; skimmed over lonely marshes, frightening the
water-birds paddling in and out among the reeds. They followed the
windings of streams, singing among the meadows, and flew along the wet
sands as they watched the moon rise out of the sea.

These flights were unadulterated pleasure, and Jimbo thought he could
never have enough of them.

He soon began to notice, too, that the trees emanated something that
affected his own condition. When he sat in their branches this was very
noticeable. Currents of force passed from them into himself. And even
when he flew over their crests he was aware that some woods exhaled
vigorous, life-giving forces, while others tired and depleted him.
Nothing was visible actually, but fine waves seemed to beat up against
his eyes and thoughts, making him stronger or weaker, happy or
melancholy, full of hope and courage, or listless and indifferent.

These emanations of the trees--this giving-forth of their own personal
forces--were, of course, very varied in strength and character. Oaks and
pines were the best combination, he found, before the stress of a long
flight, the former giving him steadiness, and the latter steely
endurance and the power to steer in sinuous, swift curves, without
taking thought or trouble.

Other trees gave other powers.