birds gave no heed. In each drooping head and dragging wing, in the
forward stoop of each white body, weighing heavily on the slim, black
legs, was written utter weariness, abject fatigue. To each even to lower
his bill and sip from the cool waters was a supreme effort. And in their
exhaustion so complete was something humanly helpless and pathetic.

To Ainsley the mysterious visitors made a direct appeal. He felt as
though they had thrown themselves upon his hospitality. That they showed
such confidence that the sanctuary would be kept sacred touched him.
And while his friends spoke eagerly, he remained silent, watching the
drooping, ghost-like figures, his eyes filled with pity.

"I have seen birds like those in Florida," Mortimer was whispering, "but
they were not migratory birds."

"And I've seen white cranes in the Adirondacks," said Lowell, "but never
six at one time."

"They're like no bird I ever saw out of a zoo," declared Elsie Mortimer.
"Maybe they ARE from the Zoo? Maybe they escaped from the Bronx?"

"The Bronx is too near," objected Lowell. "These birds have come a great
distance. They move as though they had been flying for many days."

As though the absurdity of his own thought amused him, Mortimer laughed
softly.

"I'll tell you what they DO look like," he said. "They look like that
bird you see on the Nile, the sacred Ibis, they--"