and then, a day or two at a time, to feed and
rest. They fly very high, and faster than our railroad trains can go.

In the spring the birds take their second long journey, back to their
last year's home.

How they knew their way on these journeys, men have been for many years
trying to find out. They have found that birds travel on regular roads,
or routes, that follow the rivers and the shore of the ocean. They can
see much better than we can, and even in the night they can see water.

One such road, or highway, is over the harbor of New York. When the
statue of Liberty was set up on an island in the harbor a few years ago,
it was put in the birds' path.

Usually they fly too high to mind it; but when there is a rain or fog
they come much lower, and, sad to say, many of them fly against it and
are killed.

We often see strange birds in our city streets and parks, while they are
passing through on their migration, for they sometimes spend several
days with us.

394

Ernest Thompson Seton (1860--) was born in
England, but has lived most of his life in
America. He began his career as an artist. He
made more than 1,000 drawings of birds and
animals for the _Century Dictionary_. Later he
began to write about animals and has achieved
unusual success in that field. His _Wild
Animals at Home_, _Wild Animal Ways_, _The
Biography of a Grizzly_, and _Wild Animals I
Have Known_ are all greatly enjoyed by young
people. ("The Poacher and the Silver Fox" is
taken from the first-mentioned book, by
permission of the publishers, Doubleday, Page &
Co., Garden City, New York.)

THE POACHER AND THE SILVER FOX

ERNEST THOMPSON SETON

How is it that all mankind has a sneaking sympathy with a poacher? A
burglar or a pickpocket has our unmitigated contempt; he clearly is a
criminal; but you will notice that the poacher in the story is
generally a reckless daredevil with a large and compensatory amount of
good-fellow in his make-up--yes, I almost said, of good citizenship. I
suppose, because in addition to the breezy, romantic character of his
calling, seasoned with physical danger as well as moral risk, there is
away down in human nature a strong feeling that, in spite of man-made
laws, the ancient ruling holds that "wild game belongs to no man till
some one makes it his property by capture." It may be wrong,