ent kind. We never saw him; but at night he worked untiringly
upon a voluminous woodland edition of "Who's Who."

In this harbour, we heard often the stirring cry out of the high
heavens that our ears had caught once in our anchorage at Westover. And
now we saw the wild geese themselves.

Each time, at the first faint "honk," we got quickly to the windows or
out on deck, and stood waiting for the beautiful V-shaped flight to
come swinging into our sky-lane. And with what a glorious sweep the
birds came on! And to what gloriously discordant music!

Sometimes they went over in V's that were quite regular; but often the
diverging lines would grow wavy, the beautiful flying letter still
holding but swinging in and out as though blown about on the face of
the sky.

Perhaps we had something to do with those variants of the wild goose's
favourite letter. Quite likely the sight of Gadabout, fluttering her
flags down there in Eppes Creek, made those wise old gander leaders
veer in a way somewhat disconcerting to their faithful followers.

But on they came, and on they went in their wonderful flight through
sunshine and through storm, by day and by night; leaving a strangely
roused and quickened world behind them. Just a fleet passing of wings,
a clamour of cries--why should one's heart leap, and his nerves go
restless, and joy and sadness get mixed up inside him? A few birds
flying over--yet stirring as a military pageant! A jangle of senseless
"honks"--yet in it the irresistible urge of bugle and drum!

One cannot explain. One can only stand and look and listen, till the
living, flying letter is lost in the sky; till his ear can no longer
catch the glorious, wild clangour of "the going of the geese."

Isolated as our anchorage was, we had a connecting link between
Gadabout and civilization. It was about three feet long, of a sombre
hue, and its name was Bob. Bob brought us milk and eggs and our mail,
and ran errands generally. He was usually attended by such a retinue
that only the smallest picaninnies could have been left back at the
quarters.

Sometimes, Bob lightened his labours by having a member of his
following carry a pail or the mail-bag. This worked badly; for it was
only by such badges of office that we were able to tell which was Bob.
But after several small coins had gone into the wrong ragged hats, Bob
grasped the situation; and, in a masterly way, solved the question of
identity without losing the service