. "Follow me, and you shall see" (which is Gull
poetry).

Then he led the flock over the spot where the wicker cradle tossed on
the growing waves. "Lo," said he, "a land-fish in danger of being
drowned among the Scaly Ones. Let us save it. See how pink it is. Its
eyes are a piece of the sky, and its voice is not unlike ours--listen!"

For by this time the baby had wakened, and feeling cold and hungry and
wet with the dashing spray, opened his pink mouth, and began to cry
lustily. "E-e-e-e-e!" wailed the baby; and as the White Gull had said,
that sounds very like the chief word of the Gull tongue.

[Illustration: SAINT KENETH OF THE GULLS]

"Poor little thing!" said all the mother gulls in chorus. "He talks our
language, he must be saved. Come, brothers and sisters, and use your
beaks and talons before the clumsy nest in which he lies is sunk
beneath the waves. Cree-e-e, little one, cree-e-e! We will save you."

Now, I don't know what _cree-e-e_ means in Gull. But the baby must have
understood. For he stopped crying instantly, and looked up laughing at
the white wings which fanned his face and the kind gray eyes which
peered into his own blue ones.

So the strong gulls seized the corners of the purple cloth on which the
baby lay, some with their claws, some with their hooked beaks. And at a
signal from the White Gull they fluttered up and away, bearing the baby
over the waves as if he were in a little hammock. The White Gull flew on
before and guided them to land,--a high shelf which hung over the sea
roaring on the rocks below, the nicest kind of a gull home. And here
they laid the baby down, and sat about wondering what they must do next.
But the baby cried.

"We must build him a nest," said the White Gull. "These rocks are too
hard and too sharp for a little land-fish. I know how they sleep in
their home nests, for I have seen."

Now the gulls lay their eggs on the bare rocks, and think these quite
soft enough for the young gull babies. But they all agreed that this
would never do for the little stranger. So they pulled the downy
feathers from their breasts till they had a great pile; and of this they
made the softest bed in which they laid the baby. And he slept.

This is how little Saint Keneth was saved from the waves by the kind
sea-gulls. And it goes to show that birds are sometimes kinder than
human folk. For Keneth was the Welsh Prince's little son. But no one
loved him, and his cruel mother had put h