Slowly Gay-Neck hopped down from the Lama's hands, walked out to the entrance of the cell and looked at the sunset. He opened his left wing, and waited. Then softly and ever so slowly he opened his right wing, feather by feather, muscle by muscle, until at last it spread out like a sail. Instead of doing anything theatrical such as instantly flying off, he carefully shut his two wings as if they were two precious but fragile fans. He too knew how to salute the sunset. With the dignity of a priest he walked downstairs but hardly had he gone out of sight than I heard--I fancied I heard--the flapping of his wings. I was about to get up hastily and see what had really happened, but the holy man put his hand on my shoulder and restrained me while an inscrutable smile played on his lips. The next morning I told Ghond what had happened. He replied tartly, "Gay-Neck opened his wings to salute the setting sun, you say. There is nothing surprising in that. Animals are religious though man in his ignorance thinks they are not. I have seen monkeys, eagles, pigeons, leopards and even mongoose adore the dawn and sunset." "Can you show them to me?" Ghond answered, "Yes. But not now; let us go and give Gay-Neck his breakfast." When we reached his cage we found its door open--and no pigeon within. I was not surprised, for I had left the cage unlocked every night that we had been at the Lamasery. But where had he gone? We could not find him in the main building; so we went to the library. There in a deserted outer cell we found some of his feathers, and nearby Ghond detected a weasel's footsteps. That made us suspect trouble. But if the weasel had attacked and killed him, there would be blood on the floor. Then, whither had he fled? What had he done? Where was he now? We wandered for an hour. Just as we had decided to give up the search we heard him cooing, and there he was on the roof of the library, talking to his old friends the Swifts, who were clinging to their nest under the eaves. We could make out their answer to his cooing. Mr. Swift said: "Cheep, cheep, cheep!" I cried to Gay-Neck in joy, and I gave him his call to breakfast: Aya--á--ay. He curved his neck and listened. Then as I called again he saw me, and instantly flapped his wings loudly, then flew down and sat on my wrist, cool as a cucumber. During the earliest dawn he must have heard the priests' footsteps going up to their morning meditation, and gotten out of his cage, then gone astray to the outer cell where no doubt a young and inexpert weasel had attacked him. A veteran like Gay-Neck could easily outwit the weasel by presenting him with a few feathers only. While the young hopeful was looking for the pigeon inside a lot of torn feathers, his would-be victim flew up into the sky. There he found his old friend, Swift, flying to salute the rising sun. And after they had performed their morning worship together, they had come down for a friendly chat on the roof of the monastery library.