High up, perched upon one of the topmost crags of Lonely Island, sat all alone a solitary gull. Below, within sight, upon a shelf-like rock, a smaller bird, his mate, sat disconsolately upon the very edge of her dismantled nest, unwilling to tear herself away from two featherless young gulls, her babies, who would never stretch out their long necks to her for food again. They were limp and dead--the hunters had wantonly thrown down loose rocks and broken up the nest. Although Silver Wing, the old leader of the gull tribe, felt badly enough over the loss of the little gulls, he was much older and wiser than his mourning mate; he had lived through many seasons and similar tragic events in his life. So even while his mate sat mourning, his sharp eyes had been fixed upon a certain wave crest out beyond the breaker line. With a sudden swift rush of his wide wings he launched himself from the cliff; a wild plunge and he rose from the great wave bearing aloft a glistening herring. With a graceful sweeping detour, he swerved in toward the cliff, and finally landed close beside his mate, where he dropped the fish beside her with a little crooning, plaintive cry, which meant, of course, "Take this nice herring which I have brought you, and be comforted, little mate." With another swirl of his wings he flew to fish for another herring before the school could get away. [Illustration: HE ROSE FROM THE GREAT WAVE, BEARING ALOFT A GLISTENING HERRING.] In spite of the efforts of Silver Wing, who tried for days to rouse his mate and tempt her to fly off over the water upon fishing trips, she continued to linger around the old nest until he became almost discouraged. Finally he determined to leave Lonely Island, start off and found a new home, as many of his kindred had already done after the invasion of the cruel hunters. Accordingly, Silver Wing, in some manner known to his tribe, induced his companion to accompany him upon a long flight. One fine day, in company with others of the colony who decided to follow their old leader, they started for the far distant coast. Occasionally they would halt upon some small, lonely island, but, as it happened, none of them proved to be exactly suited to the gulls' needs. The islands were often flat and sterile, mere strips of white sand and beech grass, with no rocky ledges suitable for nest building. So on and on flew the gulls, with heavy wings. Sometimes they would sight what appeared to be a small island, from which would trail long streamers of smoke. When the gulls came up close to these islands they would be terrified by strange, uncanny hootings and tootings. Besides, whenever they gained courage to hover over these strange, floating islands, they always proved to be filled with people, creatures like the hunters. One thing they discovered was that by following in the wake of the floating islands they always found plenty to eat, strange food of all kinds upon which they eagerly fed.