“EXILED BIRDS.”
CHAPTER XIX.
WHEN a long flight of exiled birds stand ready to leave the South land for their old home again, whence they fled before the stormy blasts—
As they are drawn up in a line, high in the mornin’ sky waitin’ for the leader’s signal to raise their wings and strike out northward through the pathless fields of blue—
If some cruel shot strikes down that gallant leader, the hull flock is bewildered and full of panic and distress for a time.
But a new leader takes his place, and the solid phalanx rises up and takes wing for their old home, which is again to them the new.
The flight goes on just the same, and perhaps no one but his mate feels the loneliness and emptiness of the clear blue sky.