“It’s up yonder,” a man said, pointing up at the high spire which crowned the summit of the tower of the structure.
It was just getting towards dusk, but as Will looked upwards he could make out a white fluttering object. It seemed to be impaled upon the pointed vane of the spire, and Will, straining his vision, made out that it resembled a large ocean bird.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A white osprey.”
“How did it get there?”
“Flew against the point, I guess,” replied the man.
The dying daylight gleaming down the valley showed the bird making frantic efforts to release itself.
Its strange, weird cries could be faintly heard from where Will stood.
The crowd kept increasing every moment, and among them Will noticed a strange, well-dressed, gentlemanly looking person who seemed very much interested in the aerial scene above.
“It’s a fine specimen of a bird,” he remarked. “Is there not some way of releasing it from its plight?”