"Verily, oh, raven!" despondently said Noah, "it doth appear that the dove, not more than thou, didst find a place for the sole of her foot. I will wait yet another seven days," he added thoughtfully, "ere I send her forth again."
And Noah waited seven days, and on the morning of the eighth he sent the dove forth again in quest of dry land.
The day passed, but ere evening fell the bird returned, bearing in her bill, as a token that the waters had abated, a freshly-plucked olive leaf.
"Thou art God's own messenger," joyfully said Noah, tenderly caressing the dove. "Verily something more than instinct guided and prompted thee in thy flight this day."
And Noah waited yet another seven days ere he again sent forth the dove.
This time, to the ark, the dove returned no more.
"Coo-o-o," more plaintively than usual, called her mate the next morning. "Co-o-o-o."
"He mourns for his lost love," pityingly said Japheth, the youngest son. "Verily, something hath befallen the bird!"
"Nay," responded Noah, "liberty is sweet. After long captivity in a dark, close house-boat, freedom might well try the fidelity of e'en a turtle dove. She awaits his coming, perchance, in the nearest pine or willow tree. Open then the window and let him forth."