and sees from very far off. Flying through the upper air the bird
watches the line of coast and river, and the instinct that is placed in
him says, 'Follow these.' So he follows them, remembering that by doing
so he has found a place of safety in other seasons. All through the
spring and all through the autumn birds take these mysterious
flights--for so they always seem to House People, as flock after flock
gathers and disappears. You can watch them sometimes passing by day so
high in the sky that they seem like dust-motes--then perhaps you will
only hear a faint call-note and see nothing. At night the sound of many
voices falls from the clouds. Sometimes it will be the tinkling bell of
Bobolinks, sometimes the feeble peep of Snipes, and sometimes the hoarse
honk of Wild Geese."

"Why, Uncle Roy! Can you tell a bird's name without seeing it, only by
one little cry?"

"Yes, my lad. When you have lived with birds as long as I have, you will
know their different voices as you do those of your own family. When
some one calls you in the garden, can't you tell whether it is Dodo or
Olive?"

"Yes, but their voices are so _very_ different."

"So are the voices of birds, when you know them well."

"But the young birds who have been hatched up here--how do they know
about going the first time?" asked Rap.

"The young ones are led in their journeys with signals and cries by
their parents; they in turn lead their own young, and so the knowledge