"Pigeon!" exclaimed Tim and Judy simultaneously. "Dawn!"
"Carrier-pigeon—flew in at my open window—woke me," continued the soldier in his gruff old voice. "I've used 'em—carrier-pigeons, you know. Sent messages—years ago. I understand the birds a bit. Extraordinary thing, I thought. Got up and looked at it." He blocked again.
"Ah!" said some one, by way of encouragement.
"And it looked back at me." By the way he said it, it was clear he hardly expected to be believed.
"Of course," said Uncle Felix.
"Naturally," added Tim.
"And what d'you think?" Stumper went on, a note of yearning and even passion in his voice. "What d'you think?" he whispered: "I felt it had a message for me—brought me a message—something to tell me—"
"Round its neck or foot?" asked Tim.
Stumper drew the boy closer and looked down into his face. "Eyes," he mumbled, "in its small bright eyes. There was a flash, I saw it plainly—something strange and marvellous, something I've been looking for all my life."
No one said a single word, but the old soldier felt the understanding sympathy rising like steam from all of them.