"Tamed!" said the professor softly. "See, he is not a bit afraid."

"How on earth did you do it?" asked Miss Farr when the shy, brown
baby had been duly welcomed. The whistler was visibly vain.

"Oh, it's quite simple. I merely talked to him in his own language."

"I see that. But where did you learn the language?"

"Well, a fellow taught me that--man I met at Ypres. He could have
whistled back the dodo, I think. He knew all kinds of calls--said
all the wild things answered to them."

"Was he a great naturalist?"

The cheerful vanity faded from Spence's face, leaving it sombre.

"He--would have been," he said briefly.

Miss Farr asked no more questions. It was a restful way she had. And
perhaps because she did not ask, the professor felt an unaccustomed
impulse. "He was a wonderful chap," he volunteered. "There are few
like him in a generation. It seemed--rather a waste."

The girl nodded. "Used or wasted--it's as it happens," she said.
"There is no plan."

"That's a heathen sentiment!" The professor recovered his
cheerfulness. "A sentiment not at all suited for the contemplation