The feel of spring was in the air. The sound of it filled Tommy’s ears.
The smell of it filled his nostrils and caused him to take long, deep
breaths. The sight of it gladdened his eyes, and the joy of it thrilled
his heart. For the spring, you know, has really arrived only when it
can be felt, heard, smelled, and seen, and has the power to fill all
living things with abounding joy and happiness.
Winter had been long in going. It seemed to Tommy that it never would
go. He liked winter. Oh, yes, Tommy liked winter! He liked to skate
and slide, to build snow forts and houses, and make snow men. He liked
to put on his snow-shoes and tramp through the Green Forest, for many
are the secrets of the summer which the winter reveals to those with
eyes to see, and Tommy was trying to train his eyes to be of that kind.
But when it was time for winter to go, he wanted it to go quickly, and
it hadn’t. It had dragged on and dragged on. To be sure, there had been
a few springlike days, but they had been only an aggravation.
But this day was different, and Tommy knew that at last spring had
arrived. It was not that it was long past time, for it was now almost
April. It was something more. It was just a something that, throbbing
all through him, told him that this time there was no mistake--spring
was really here. There was a softness in the touch of gentle Sister
Southwind which was like a caress. From over in the Green Forest came
the gurgle of the Laughing Brook, and mingling with it was the soft
whistle of Winsome Bluebird, the cheery song of Welcome Robin, the
joyous greeting of Little Friend the Song-sparrow, the clear lilt of
Carol the Meadow-lark, the sweet love call of Tommy Tit, the Chickadee,
and under all a subdued murmur, sensed rather than really heard, as of
a gentle stirring of reawakened life. So Tommy _heard_ the spring.
And in each long breath he drew there was the odor of damp, warm soil
such as the earth gives up only at this season. And so Tommy _smelled_
the spring.
And looking from the top of the hill above the wishing-stone down
across the Green Meadows to the Old Pasture and beyond to the Purple
Hills, he saw all as through a soft and beautiful haze, which was
neither fog nor smoke, but as if old Mother Nature had drawn an
exquisite veil over the face of the earth until it should be made
beautiful. And so Tommy _saw_ the spring.
He whistled joyously as he tramped down to the dear old wishing-stone
and sat down on it, his hands clasped about his crossed knees. Seasons
came and went, but the wishing-stone, the great, gray stone which
overlooked the Green Meadows, remained always the same. How many, many
winters it must have seen go, and how many, many springs it must have
seen come, some early and some, like this one, late, but all beautiful!
In all the years it had been there how many of old Mother Nature’s
children, little people in fur, little people in feathers, little
people in scaly suits, and little people with neither fur nor feathers
nor scales, but with gauzy or beautifully colored wings, or crawling
with many feet, must have rested there just as he was doing now!
Somehow Tommy always got to thinking of these little people whenever
he sat on the wishing-stone. From it he had watched many of them
and learned much of their ways. But he had learned still more by
wishing. That seems queer, but it was so. He had wished that he was a
meadow-mouse, and no sooner had he wished it than he had been one. In
turn he had wished himself into a red squirrel, a rabbit, and a mink,
and he had lived their lives; had learned how they work and play; how
sometimes they have plenty, but quite as often go hungry, sometimes
very hungry, and how always they are under the shadow of fear, and the
price of life is eternal watchfulness.
“I suppose some people would say that I fell asleep and dreamed it all,
but I know better,” said Tommy. “If they were dreams, why don’t I have
the same kind at home in bed? But it’s only out here on this old stone
when I wish I were something that I become it. So of course it isn’t a
dream! Now I think of it, every single time I’ve wished myself one of
these little animals, it has been because I thought they had a better
and an easier time than I do, and every time I’ve been mighty glad that
I’m just what I am. I wonder----” He paused a minute, for a sudden
thought had popped into his head. “I wonder,” he finished, “if those
wishes came true just to teach me not to be discontented. I wonder if a
wish would come true if I weren’t discontented!”
He was still wondering when, floating down out of the sky, came a clear
“_Honk, honk, honk, k’honk, honk, honk, k’honk._” Instantly Tommy
turned his freckled face and eager eyes skyward.
“Wild geese!” he exclaimed.
“_Honk, honk, k’honk, honk!_” The sound was loud and clear, but it
seemed to come from nowhere in particular and everywhere in general. Of
course it came from somewhere up in the sky, but it was very hard to
place it as from any particular part. It was a good two minutes before
Tommy’s eyes, sharp as they were, found what he was looking for--a
black wedge moving across the sky, a wedge made up of little, black
living spots. At least they looked little. That was because they were
so high, so very high in the sky.
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.
So all day they flew, crying the glad message of the spring to the
crawling things below. Just a little while before the setting of the
sun, Honker, the leader, slanted down toward a shining spot in the
heart of a great forest, and the others followed. Rapidly the shining
spot grew in size until below them lay a pond far from the homes of
men, and to the very middle of this Honker led the way, while the whole
flock broke into excited gabbling, for they had flown far and were
tired. With a splash Honker struck the water, and with splash after
splash the others followed, Tommy the last, because, you know, he was
at the end of one of those long lines.
Then for a while they rested, the wise old leader scanning the shores
with keen eyes for possible danger. Satisfied that all was well, he
gave a signal and led the way to a secluded cove where the water was
shallow and the shore marshy. It was clear that he had been there
before, and had come with a purpose. Slowly they swam, Honker well in
the lead, necks held high, the eyes of all alert and studying the
nearing shore. There was no honking now, not a sound. To Tommy, in his
inexperience, such watchfulness seemed needless. What possible danger
could there be in such a lonely place? But he wisely kept his place and
did as the others did.
At length they were close to shore, and Honker gave a low signal which
meant that all was well. Instantly the formation was broken, and with
a low, contented gabbling the flock began feeding on eel-grass, roots,
and sedges from the mud at the bottom. For an hour they fed, then they
swam about, or sat on the shore preening their feathers while the
shadows deepened. But all the time Honker and some of the older ganders
with eyes and ears alert were on guard. And when at last Tommy put his
head under his wing to sleep, a great content filled his heart.
[Illustration: HONKER ON THE WATCH]
The next day was much like the first. With break of day they had
breakfasted, and then, at a signal from Honker, they had mounted up,
up into the blue vault, and all day they had heralded the spring to
the earth below as they flew into the north. So it was the next day
and the next, wise old Honker leading them to some chosen secluded
resting-place each night.
Gradually the face of the earth below changed. There were no more
cities. The villages became smaller and farther between, and at last
they saw no more, only here and there a lonely farm. Great forests and
lakes succeeded each other, the air grew colder, but with his thick
coat of feathers Tommy minded it not at all.
Then, one day, they found they had outflown the spring. Below them the
earth was still frozen and snow-covered. The ponds and lakes were still
ice-bound. Reluctantly Honker turned back to their last stopping-place
and there for a week they rested in peace and security, though not
in contentment, for the call of the North, the Far North, with its
nesting-grounds, was ever with them, and made them impatient and eager
to be on their way. The daily flights were shorter now, and there were
frequent rests of days at a time, for spring advanced slowly, and
they must wait for the unlocking of the lakes and rivers. The forests
changed; the trees became low and stunted. At last they came to a vast
region of bogs and swamps and marshes around shallow lakes and ponds, a
great lonely wilderness, a mighty solitude. At least that is what Tommy
would have thought it had he been a boy or a man instead of a smart
young gander.
It was neither lonely nor a solitude to him now, but the haven which
had been the object of those hundreds of miles of strong-winged flight.
It was the nesting-ground. It was home! And how could it be lonely
with flock after flock of his own kind coming in every hour of every
day; with thousands of ducks pouring in in swift winged flight, and
countless smaller birds, all intent on home-building?
The flock broke up into pairs, each intent on speedily securing a home
of their own. On the ground they made great nests of small sticks and
dead grass with a soft lining of down. In each presently were four or
five big eggs. And soon there were downy goslings--scores and scores of
them--in the water with their mothers for the first swimming lesson.
Then the old birds had to be more vigilant than before, for there were
dangers, many of them, even in that far wilderness: prowling foxes,
hungry lynxes, crafty mink, hawks, fierce owls, each watching for the
chance to dine on tender young goose. So the summer, short in that far
northern region, passed, and the young birds grew until they were as
large as their parents, and able to care for themselves.
Cold winds swept down out of the frozen Arctic Ocean with warning
that already winter had begun the southward march. Then began a great
gathering of the geese, and a dividing into flocks, each with a chosen
leader, chosen for his strength, his wisdom, and his ability to hold
his leadership against all comers. Many a battle between ambitious
young ganders and old leaders did Tommy see, but he wisely forbore to
challenge old Honker, the leader who had led the way north, and when
the latter gathered the flock for the journey he was one of the first
to fall in line.
A thousand plus a thousand miles and more stretched before them as
they turned to the south, but to the strength of their broad wings the
distance was as nothing. But this was to be a very different journey
from their trip north, as Tommy soon found out. Then they had been
urged on day by day by a great longing to reach their destination. Now
in place of longing was regret. There was no joy in the going. They
were going because they must. They had no choice. Winter had begun its
southward march.
The flights were comparatively short, for where food was good they
stayed until some subtle sense warned old Honker that it was time to be
moving. It was when they had left the wilderness and reached the great
farm-lands that they lingered longest. There in the stubble of the
grain fields was feed a-plenty, and every morning at dawn, and again
every afternoon, an hour or so before sundown, Honker led the way to
the fields. During the great part of the day and all night they rested
and slept on the bar of a river, or well out on the bosom of a lake.
It was now that Tommy learned a new respect for the cunning of the wise
old leader, and also that terrible fear which comes sooner or later to
all wild creatures--the fear of man. Time and again, as they approached
their chosen feeding-ground, there would come a sharp signal from
Honker, and he would abruptly turn the direction of the flight and lead
them to another and much poorer feeding-ground. Yet, look as he would,
Tommy could see no cause, no danger.
At first Tommy thought it was because other geese seemed to have
reached the feeding-ground first. He could see them standing stiffly as
if watching the newcomers, near them a harmless little heap of straw.
He knew that the feeding was better there, and he wanted to go, but the
spirit of obedience was strong within him, and he followed with the
rest. Once he voiced his disapproval to another bird as they settled
some distance away where it was more work to find the scattered grain.
“Watch!” he replied in a low tone. “There comes a flock led by that
young upstart who fought and defeated his old leader the day before we
left home. He is leading them straight over there.”
Tommy watched. Suddenly from that harmless-looking little heap of straw
there sprang two spurts of flame, followed by two sharp reports that
struck terror to his heart. Even as he beat his way into the air, he
looked and saw that foolish young leader and two of his flock falling,
stricken and helpless, to the earth, and a man leap from under the
straw to pick them up. Then he understood, and a new loyalty to old
Honker grew in his heart.
But in spite of the ever-present danger Honker kept his flock there,
for food was good and plentiful, and he had faith in himself, and
his flock had faith in him. So they lingered, until a driving snow
squall warned them that they must be moving. Keeping just ahead of the
on-coming winter, they journeyed south, and at every stopping-place
they found men and guns waiting. There was no little pond so lonely but
that death might be lurking there.
Sometimes the call of their own kind would come up to them. Looking
down, they would see geese swimming in seeming security and calling to
them to come down and join them. More than once Honker set his wings
to accept the invitation, only to once more beat his way upward as his
keen eyes detected something amiss on the shore. And so Tommy learned
the baseness of man who would use their own kind to decoy them to death.
Came at last a sudden swift advance of cold weather which forced them
to fly all night. When day broke, they were weary of wing, and, worse,
the air was thick with driving snow. For the first time, Tommy beheld
Honker uncertain. He still led the flock, but he led he knew not where,
for in the driving snow none could see.
Low they flew now, but a little way above the earth, making little
progress against the driving storm, and so weary of wing that it was
all they could do to keep their heavy bodies up. It was then that
the welcome honk of other geese came up to them, and, heading in the
direction of the calling voices and honking back their distress, they
discovered water below, and gladly, oh, so gladly, set their wings and
dropped down into this haven of refuge.
Hardly had the first ones hit the water when, bang! bang! bang! bang!
the fateful guns roared, and when, out of the confusion into which they
were thrown, they once more gathered behind their old leader far out in
the middle of the pond, some of the flock were missing.
In clear weather they flew high, and it happened on such a day that,
as Tommy looked down, there stirred within him a strange feeling.
Below stretched a green forest with broad meadows beyond, and farther
still an old brush-grown pasture. Somehow it was wonderfully familiar.
Eagerly he looked. There should be something more. Ah, there it was--an
old gray boulder overlooking the meadows! Like a magnet, it seemed to
draw Tommy down to itself. “_Honk, honk, honk, k’honk!_” Tommy heard
the call of his old leader faintly, as if from a distance.
“_Honk, honk, honk, k’honk, honk, k’honk, honk!_” Tommy opened his eyes
and rubbed them confusedly. Where was he? “_Honk, honk, honk, k’honk,
honk, k’honk!_” He looked up. There, high in the blue sky, was a living
wedge pointing straight into the North, and the joy of the spring was
in the wild clamor that came down to him.
Slowly he rose from the old wishing-stone, and, with his hands thrust
in his pockets, watched the flock until it was swallowed up in the
distant haze. Long he stood gazing through unseeing eyes while the wild
notes still came to him faintly, and the joy of them rang in his heart.
But there was no longing there now, only a vast content.
“It must be great to fly like that!” he murmured. “It must be great,
but----” He drew a long breath as he looked over the meadows to the Old
Pasture and heard and saw and felt the joy of the spring--“this is good
enough for me!” he finished. “I don’t envy that old leader a bit. It
may be glorious to be wild and free, to look down and see the Great
World, and all that, but it’s more glorious to be safe and carefree,
and--and just a boy. No, I don’t envy old Honker a little bit. But
isn’t he wonderful! I--I don’t see what men want to hunt him for and
try to kill him. They wouldn’t if they knew how wonderful he is. I
never will. No, sir. I never will! I know how it feels to be hunted,
and--and it’s dreadful. That’s what it is--dreadful! I know! And it’s
all because of the old wishing-stone. I’m glad I know, and--and--gee,
I’m glad it’s spring!”
“_Honk, honk, honk, k’honk, honk, k’honk._” Another flock of geese were
passing over, and Tommy knew that they, too, were glad, oh, so glad,
that it was spring!
Two of Tommy’s acquaintances, Reddy Fox and Jerry Muskrat, he thought
he knew all about, but he found that there was much he didn’t know. And
there were two who live deep in the Great Woods whom he had never seen,
Paddy the Beaver and Buster Bear. So to the friendly old wishing-stone
Tommy went and what he learned there you may learn from the next
volume, Tommy’s Change of Heart.
* * * * *