Again the sound was repeated; not a single note, but a medley, a chorus. It was still faint, still immeasurable as to distance; but nearer than before and approaching closer second by second. Not from the earth did it come, but from the air. Not by any stretch of the imagination was it an earthly sound, but aërial. It was an alien note and still it was not alien. There upon the silent earth with its sunshine and its illimitable distances, it seemed very much a part of the whole. Its keynote was the keynote of the time and place, its message was their message, the thrill it bore to the listener the thrill of the whole. It was not a musical call, that steadily approaching sound. No human being has ever been able to locate it in pitch or metre; yet to such as the listening man upon the ground, to those who have heard it year by year, it is nevertheless the sweetest, most insistent of music. Beside it there is no other note which will compare, none other which even approaches its appeal. It is the spirit of the wild, of magnificent distances, of freedom impersonate. It is to-day, it was then; for the sound that the man heard drawing nearer and nearer that October afternoon was the swelling, diminishing note of the migrant on its way south, of the grey Canada honker en route from the Arctic circle to the Gulf of Mexico. "Honk! honk!" Sonorous, elusive, came the sound. It was within a half mile now, and there was no mistaking the destination, the intent of its makers. "Honk! honk! honk! honk!" from many throats, in many keys, louder and louder, confused as children's voices at play; then in turn diminishing, retreating. Very mystifying to one who did not understand would have been that augmenting, lessening sound; but to that waiting human boulder it was no mystery. As plainly as though he could see, he knew every movement of that approaching triangle. As certainly as the broncho near by and the herd in the distance had responded to the sunshine and the time of day, he knew they were responding. To all wild things it was the rest hour, and to those a half mile high in the air as inevitably as to the beast on earth instinct had said "halt." They were still going southward, still drawing nearer and nearer; but it would not be for long. Already they were circling, descending, searching here and there for a place to alight, to rest. Suspicious even here, they were taking their time; but distinct now amid the confusion was the sound of their great wings against the denser air, and the "Honk! honk! honk!" was a continuous chatter. Circle after circle made the flock. Once their noise all but ceased, and the listener fancied for an instant they were down, but in a moment it was resumed louder than before, and he knew they were still a-wing. "Honk! honk! honk! honk! honk! honk!" They were very near indeed, so near that the sleeping pony was aroused at the clamour and, lifting its head, looked about curiously.