their home, able to return to it without fail. The sense of
direction is now believed to be located in the bony labyrinth of
the ear. There is no creature with finer sense of locality and
direction than a good Homer, and the only visible proofs of it
are the great bulge on each side of the head over the ears, and
the superb wings that complete his equipment to obey the noble
impulse of home-love. Now the mental and physical equipments of
the last lot of young birds were to be put to test.

Although there were plenty of witnesses, I thought it best to
close all but one of the pigeon-doors and stand ready to shut
that behind the first arrival.

I shall never forget the sensations of that day. I had been
warned: "They start at 12; they should be here at 12:30; but look
out, they come like a whirlwind. You hardly see them till they're
in."

We were ranged along the inside of the loft, each with an eye to
a crack or a partly closed pigeon-door, anxiously scanning the
southwestern horizon, when one shouted: "Look out--here they
come!" Like a white cloud they burst into view, low skimming over
the city roofs, around a great chimney pile, and in two seconds
after first being seen they were back. The flash of white, the
rush of pinions, were all so sudden, so short, that, though
preparing, I was unprepared. I was at the only open door. A
whistling arrow of blue shot in, lashed my face with its pinions,
and passed. I had hardly time to drop the little door, as a yell
burst from the men, "Arnaux! Arnaux! I told you he would. Oh,
he's a darling; only three months old and a winner--he's a little