er in bewildered circles, not knowing where to
turn! We can no more know how Bob found his way than the born-deaf can
know the sound of a merry tune, or the born-blind can know the look of a
sunset sky. Some people think that, besides the five senses given to a
man, Nature gave one more to the bobolink--a sixth gift, called a "sense
of direction."

A wonderful gift for a vagabond! To journey hither and yon with never a
fear of being lost! To go forty hundred miles and never miss the way! To
sail over land and over sea,--over meadow and forest and mountain,--and
reach the homeland, far south of the Amazon, at just the right time! To
travel by starlight as well as by sunshine, without once mistaking the
path!

By starlight? What, Bob, who had frolicked and chuckled through the
bright June days, and dozed o' nights so quietly that never a passing
owl could see a motion to tempt a chase?

Yes, when he joined the Band of Bobolink Vagabonds, the gates of the
night, which had been closed to him by Sleep, were somehow thrown open,
and Bob was free to journey, not only where he would, but when he
would--neither darkness nor daylight having power to stop him then.

Is it strange that his wings quivered with the joy of voyaging as surely
as the sails of a boat tighten in the tugging winds?

What would you give to see this miracle--a bobolink flying through the
night? For it has been seen; there being men who go and watch, when
their calendars tell them 't is time for birds to take their southward
flight. Their eyes are too feeble to see such sights unaided; so they
look through a telescope toward the full round moon, and then they can
see the birds that pass between them and the light. Like a procession
they go--the bobolinks and other migrants, too; for the night sky is
filled with travelers when birds fly south.

But though we could not see them, we should know when they are on their
way because of their voices. What would you give to hear this miracle--a
bobolink calling his watchword through the night? For it has been
heard; there being men who go to the hilltops and listen.

As they hear, now and again, wanderers far above them calling, "Chink,"
one to another, they know the bobolinks are on their way to a land that
lies south of the Amazon, and that neither sleep nor darkness bars their
path, which is open before them to take when and where they will.

And yet Bob and his comrades did not hasten. The year was long en