I heard Em say to my wife, "You know, the strangest thing occurred out there. I _thought_ it looked like those owls were carrying things on their backs. One of them dropped something and I saw the men open a package wrapped in a leaf. You'd never believe what was in it--three little birds roasted to a nice brown!" My son nudged me. "Smart owls. Long trip." I put my hand over his mouth. Then I saw that Guy was holding the receiver limply away from his ear. He spluttered. "They just taped a radio message from the rocket. It's true that the radio wasn't thrown out. But we didn't have a record like _this_ on that rocket." He yelled into the phone. "Play it back." He thrust the receiver at me. For a moment, there was only a gritty buzz from the receiver. Then the tape started playing a soft, high voice. "This is Rocket Harold saying everything is well. This is Rocket Harold saying good-by to men." There was a pause and then, in clear volpla language, another voice spoke. "Man who made us, we forgive you. We know we did not come from the stars, but we go there. I, chief, give you welcome to visit. Good-by." * * * * * We all stood around too exhausted by the excitement to say anything. I was filled with a big, sudden sadness. I stood for a long time and looked out to the east, where the sprawling mountain range held a bowl of dancing fireflies between her black breasts. Presently I said to old Guy, "How long do you think it will be before you have a manned rocket ready for Venus?" End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Volpla, by Wyman Guin