the broad lily
leaves afloat in the sheltered cove, the wide, low-shored lake water
gleaming rose-red in the sunset.

"It's a shame," growled Horner, "to keep a critter like that shut up
in a seven-by-nine chicken-pen!" And he moved on, feeling as if he
were himself a prisoner, and suddenly homesick for a smell of the
spruce woods.

It was in this mood that he came upon the great dome-roofed cage
containing the hawks and eagles. It was a dishevelled, dirty place,
with a few uncanny-looking dead trees stuck up in it to persuade the
prisoners that they were free. Horner gave a hasty glance and then
hurried past, enraged at the sight of these strong-winged adventurers
of the sky doomed to so tame a monotony of days. But just as he got
abreast of the farther extremity of the cage, he stopped, with a queer
little tug at his heart-strings. He had caught sight of a great,
white-headed eagle, sitting erect and still on a dead limb close to
the bars, and gazing through them steadily, not at him, but straight
into the eye of the sun.

"Shucks! It ain't possible! There's millions o' bald eagles in the
world!" muttered Horner discontentedly.

It was the right side of the bird's head that was turned towards him,
and that, of course, was snowy white. Equally, of course, it was as,
Horner told himself, the height of absurdity to think that this grave,
immobile prisoner gazing out through the bars at the sun could be his
old friend of the naked peak. Nevertheless, something within his heart
insisted it was so. If only the bird would turn his head! At last
Horner put two fingers between his mouth, and blew a whistle so
piercing that every one stared rebukingly, and a policeman came
strolling along casually to see if any one had signalled for help. But
Horner was all unconscious of the interest which he had excited. In
response to his shrill summons the eagle had slowly, very
deliberately, turned his head, and looked him steadily in the eyes.
Yes, there was the strange black bar above the left eye, and there,
unbroken by defeat and captivity, was the old look of imperturbable
challenge!

Horner could almost have cried, from pity and homesick sympathy. Those
long days on the peak, fierce with pain, blinding bright with sun,
wind-swept and solitary, through which this great, still bird had kept
him alive, seemed to rush over his spirit all together.

"Gee, old pardner!" he murmured, leaning as far over the railing as he
could. "B