for help
to the governess; but this time there was an entirely new difficulty in
the way, for he found to his utter dismay that his voice refused to make
itself heard. His mouth was dry and his tongue would hardly stir.

Not a sound issued from his lips, but the children instantly moved
forwards and hemmed him in between them and the wall; and to reach the
window he would have to break through this semicircle of whispering,
shadowy forms. Above their heads he could see the stars shining, and any
moment he might hear Miss Lake's voice calling to him to come out. His
heart rose with passionate longing within him, and he gathered his wings
tightly about him ready for the final dash. It would take more than the
Frightened Children to hold him prisoner when once he heard that voice,
or even without it!

Whether they were astonished at his boldness, or merely waiting their
opportunity later, he could not tell; but anyhow they kept their
distance for a time and made no further attempt to seize his feathers.
Whispering together under their breath, sometimes singing their
mournful, sighing songs, sometimes sinking their voices to a confused
murmur, they moved in and out amongst each other with soundless feet
like the shadows of branches swaying in the wind.

Then, suddenly, they moved closer and stretched out their arms towards
him, their bodies swaying rhythmically together, while their combined
voices, raised just above a whisper, sang to him--

"Dare you fly out to-night,
When the Moon is so strong?
Though the stars are so bright,
There is death in their song;
You're a hostage to Fright,
And to us you belong!

Dare you fly out alone
Through the shadows that wave,
When the course is unknown
And there's no one to save?
You are bone of our bone,
And for ever His slave!"

And, following these words, came from somewhere in the air that voice
like the thunder of a river. Jimbo knew only too well to whom it
belonged as he listened to the rhyme of the West Wind--

"For the Wind of the West
Is a wind unblest,
And its dangerous breath
Will entice you to death!
Fly not with the Wind of the West, O child,
With the terrible Wind of the West!"

But the boy knew perfectly well that these efforts to stop him were all
part of a trap. They were lying to him. It was not the Wind of the West
at all; _it was the South Wind_! That at least he knew by the odours
that were wafted