vil to her. After a time the jailer
removed the female, and Arnaux was left in solitary confinement for a
month. Now a different female was brought in, but with no better luck;
and thus it went on--for a year different charmers were introduced.
Arnaux either violently repelled them or was scornfully indifferent,
and at times the old longing to get away, came back with twofold power,
so that he darted up and down the wire front or dashed with all his
force against it.

When the storied feathers of his wings began their annual moult, his
jailer saved them as precious things, and as each new feather came he
reproduced on it the record of its owner's fame.

Two years went slowly by, and the jailer had put Arnaux in a new loft
and brought in another lady Pigeon. By chance she closely resembled the
faithless one at home. Arnaux actually heeded the newcomer. Once the
jailer thought he saw his famous prisoner paying some slight attention
to the charmer, and, yes, he surely saw her preparing a nest. Then
assuming that they had reached a full understanding, the jailer, for
the first time, opened the outlet, and Arnaux was free. Did he hang
around in doubt? Did he hesitate? No, not for one moment. As soon as
the drop of the door left open the way, he shot through, he spread
those wonderful blazoned wings, and, with no second thought for the
latest Circe, sprang from the hated prison loft--away and away.

V

We have no means of looking into the Pigeon's mind; we may go wrong in
conjuring up for it deep thoughts of love and welcome home; but we are
safe in this, we cannot too strongly paint, we cannot too highly praise
and glorify that wonderful God-implanted, mankind-fostered home-love
that glows unquenchably in this noble bird. Call it what you like, a
mere instinct deliberately constructed by man for his selfish ends,
explain it away if you will, dissect it, misname it, and it still is
there, in overwhelming, imperishable master-power, as long as the brave
little heart and wings can beat.

Home, home, sweet home! Never had mankind a stronger love of home than
Arnaux. The trials and sorrows of the old pigeon-loft were forgotten in
that all-dominating force of his nature. Not years of prison bars, not
later loves, nor fear of death, could down its power; and Arnaux, had
the gift of song been his, must surely have sung as sings a hero in his
highest joy, when sprang he from the 'lighting board, up-circling free,
soaring, dra