rcurrent of his own thoughts ran on
unceasingly: "What can I do for her? I am falling in love--in love,
surely, hopelessly. What can I do for her--for her brother--her father?
I am falling in love--in love--in love."

The long, still, sunny afternoon slipped away. Gradually the water
turned to pearl, inlaid with gold, then with glowing rose. And now, far
to the north, the first thrilling clangor of wild geese, high in the
blue, came to their ears, and they shrank apart and lay back, staring
upward. Nearer, nearer, came the sky trumpets, answering faintly each to
each--nearer, nearer, till high over the blind swept the misty wedge;
and old Uncle Dudley flapped his wings and stretched his neck, calling
up to his wild comrades of earthly delights unnumbered here under the
shadow of death. And every wild goose answered him, and the decoys
flapped and clamored a siren welcome; but the flying wedge glided onward
through the blue.

"They've begun to move," whispered the girl. "But, oh, dear! It is
blue-bird weather. Hark! Do you hear the swans? I can hear swans coming
out of the north!"

Marche could not yet hear them, but the tethered swans and geese heard,
and a magnificent chorus rose from the water. Then, far away as
fairyland, faintly out of the sky, came a new murmur--not the martial
clangor of wild geese, but something wilder, more exquisitely
unearthly--nearer, nearer, enrapturing its weird, celestial beauty. And
now, through the blue, with great, snowy wings slowly beating, the swans
passed over like angels; and like angels passing, hailing each other as
they winged their way, drifting on broad, white pinions, they called,
each to the other in their sweet, unreal voices, gossiping, garrulous,
high in the sky. And far away they floated on until they became only a
silver ribbon undulating against the azure; and even then Marche could
hear the soft tumult of their calling: Heu! Heu! Hiou! Hiou-oo! until
sound and snowy flecks vanished together in mid-heaven.

Again, coming from the far north, the trumpets of the sky squadron were
sounding; they passed, wedge after wedge, sometimes in steady formation,
sometimes like a wavering band of witches, and again in shifting
battalions, sternly officered, passing through intricate aerial
maneuvers, and greeted by Uncle Dudley and the other decoys with wild
beseeching mixed with applause.

Snowy, angelic companies of swans came alternately with the geese; then
a whimpering, w