Far out on the bosom of the wide ocean lay Lonely Island, a small, rock-bound hummock of sand against which the breakers roared and dashed furiously. So wild and barren was the spot that no one visited it, for no human being could live there; nothing throve but rank grasses and stunted beech plum shrubs. Over upon the south side of the island were steep ledges, shelving down into deep water, and this spot alone was never lonely or still, because it was inhabited by thousands of screaming water-fowl. Down between the cliffs in the lowliest tenements dwelt the snipe and petrel families, the latter seldom at home except during their nesting season. Along the shelf-like places of the rocks above dwelt the gannets, the terns and all other tribes belonging to the gull family. High up in their home crannies the sea birds could always catch the pearly shimmer of the breaking of an approaching school of herrings, even before they reached the line of tossing foam below. Then, swift and sure, they would dart out to meet them. It was wonderful to watch the herring gulls at their fishing, now skimming low over giant, green waves, now sinking into the trough of the sea. Then, with a sudden swift splash of feathery spray, behold the sharp-eyed gull secures the fish and is back again in his own nest upon the cliff. Strangely enough, although the cliff was swarmed with other gull families, each cranny bearing its nest looking precisely like another, never did a returning gull make a mistake or intrude upon another family. For many seasons the gulls and their kindred had nested upon Lonely Island, but one year hunters discovered their retreat, and set up a temporary camp upon the barren sands. They had come to hunt for terns, killing and slaughtering them by hundreds, just for the sake of their beautiful, delicate feathers for which they were to be paid much money. Finally the hunters abandoned the island, leaving behind them many wounded, besides scores of deserted young birds, not out of the pin-feather age, who would finally pine and die alone upon the lonely ledges, when the parent birds failed to come back to feed them. For a season, fear and chaos reigned among the gull settlements. Day after day the frightened sea fowl circled wildly about their cliffs, their weird, lonely calls alone breaking the silence, ringing even above the noise of the breakers below them. So many of the colonies were broken up and disturbed that they flew off in detached numbers, perhaps seeking some safer retreat inland.