He knew that each of those black spots was a great, broad-winged bird--a Canada goose. He could see the long outstretched necks as tiny black lines. One behind another in two long lines which met in a letter V, like well-drilled soldiers maintaining perfect formation, the leader at the apex of the V, and behind him each bird a given distance from the one in front, they moved steadily across the sky, straight into the north. “_Honk, honk, k’honk, honk, k’honk, k’honk, honk!_” There was something indescribably thrilling in the sound. It made the blood leap and race through Tommy’s veins. Long after the living wedge had passed beyond his vision those clarion notes rang in his ears--“_honk, honk, k’honk, honk, k’honk, k’honk, honk!_” They were at once a challenge and a call to the wild freedom of the great wilderness. They filled his heart with a great longing. It swelled and pulsed with a vast desire. “Oh,” he sighed, “it must be great to be able to fly like that. I would rather fly than do anything I know of. I envy old Honker in the lead there, I do. I wish I could join him this very minute!” Of course that wish had slipped out unthinkingly. But that made no difference. Tommy had wished, and now here he was high in the air, no longer a boy, but a great bird, the last one in a long line of great birds beating the thin air with stout, tireless wings as they followed Honker, the leader, straight into the North. Far, far below lay the Great World. It seemed to Tommy that he had no part in it now. A fierce tumultuous joy surged through him and demanded expression. Spring had come, and he must tell those plodding creatures, mere specks, crawling on the distant earth. _Honk, honk, k’honk, honk, k’honk!_ Never in all his life had Tommy felt such a thrill as possessed him now. Looking down, he saw brown meadows and pastures showing just a hint of green here and there, green forests and bare woodlands, silver threads, which he knew to be rivers, shining spots which were lakes and ponds, and villages which looked like toys. Once they passed over a great city, but it did not look great at all. Seen through the murk of the smoke from many factory chimneys, it was not unlike an ant-hill which had been opened,--tiny black objects, which were really men, women, children, horses, and motor-cars, seeming to hurry aimlessly in all directions, for all the world like ants.