stuart slept under the canoe that night. he awakened at four to find that the rain had stopped.

the day would break clear. already the birds were beginning to stir and make bright sounds in the branches overhead. stuart never let a bird pass without looking to see if it was margalo.

at the edge of the town he found a filling station and stopped to take on some gas.

“five, please,” said stuart to the attendant.

the man looked at the tiny automobile in amazement.

“five what?” he asked.

“five drops,” said stuart. but the man

shook his head and said that he couldn’t sell such a small amount of gas.

“why can’t you?” demanded stuart. “you need the money and i need the gas. why can’t we work something out between us?”

the filling station man went inside and came back with a medicine dropper. stuart unscrewed the cap of the tank and the man put in five drops of gasoline. “i’ve never done anything like this before,” he said.

“better look at the oil, too,” said stuart.

after everything had been checked and the money had been paid, stuart climbed in, started the engine, and drove out onto the highway. the sky was growing brighter, and along the river the mists of morning hung in the early light. the village was still asleep. stuart’s car purred along smoothly. stuart felt refreshed and glad to be on the move again.

half a mile out of town the road forked. one road seemed to go off toward the west, the other road continued north. stuart drew up to the side of the northbound road and got out to look the situation over. to his surprise he discovered that there was a man sitting in the ditch, leaning against a signpost. the man wore spurs on his legs. he also wore a heavy leather belt, and stuart realized that he must be a repairman for the telephone company.

“good morning,” said stuart in a friendly voice. the repairman raised one hand to his head in a salute. stuart sat down in the ditch beside him and breathed deeply of the fresh, sweet air. “it’s going to be a fine day,” he observed.

“yes,” agreed the repairman, “a fine day. i am looking forward to climbing my poles.”

“i wish you fair skies and a tight grip,” said stuart. “by the way, do you ever see any birds at the tops of your poles?”

“yes, i see birds in great numbers,” replied the repairman.

“well, if you ever run across a bird named margalo,” said stuart, “i’d appreciate it if you would drop me a line. here’s my card.”

“describe the bird,” said the repairman, taking out pad and pencil.

“brown,” said stuart. “brown, with a streak of yellow on her bosom.”

“know where she comes from?” asked the man.

“she comes from fields once tall with wheat, from

pastures deep in fern and thistle; she comes from vales of meadowsweet, and she loves to whistle.”

the repairman wrote it all down briefly. “fields—wheat—pastures, fern and thistle. vales, meadowsweet. enjoys whistling.” then he put the pad back in his pocket, and tucked stuart’s card away in his wallet. “i’ll keep my eyes open,” he promised.

stuart thanked him. they sat for a while in silence. then the man spoke.

“which direction are you headed?” he asked.

“north,” said stuart.

“north is nice,” said the repairman.

“i’ve always enjoyed going north. of course, south-west is a fine direction, too.”

“yes, i suppose it is,” said stuart, thoughtfully.

“and there’s east,” continued the repairman. “i once had an interesting experience on an easterly course. do you want me to tell you about it?”

“no, thanks,” said stuart.

the repairman seemed disappointed, but he kept right on talking. “there’s something about north,” he said, “something that sets it apart from all other directions. a person who is heading north is not making any mistake, in my opinion.”

“that’s the way i look at it,” said stuart. “i rather expect that from now on i shall be traveling north until the end of my days.”

“worse things than that could happen to a person,” said the repairman.

“yes, i know,” answered stuart.

“following a broken telephone line north,

i have come upon some wonderful places,” continued the repairman. “swamps where cedars grow and turtles wait on logs but not for anything in particular; fields bordered by crooked fences broken by years of standing still; orchards so old they have forgotten where the farmhouse is. in the north i have eaten my lunch in pastures rank with ferns and junipers, all under fair skies with a wind blowing. my business has taken me into spruce woods on winter nights where the snow lay deep and soft, a perfect place for a carnival of rabbits. i have sat at peace on the freight platforms of railroad junctions in the north, in the warm hours andwiththe warm smells. i know fresh lakes in the north, undisturbed except by fish and hawk and, of course, by the telephone company, which has to follow its nose. i know all these places well. they are a long way from here—don’t forget that. and a person who is looking for something doesn’t travel very fast.”

“that’s perfectly true,” said stuart.

“well, i guess i’d better be going.

thank you for your friendly remarks.”

“not at all,” said the repairman. “i hope you find that bird.”

stuart rose from the ditch, climbed into his car, and started up the road that led toward the north. the sun was just coming up over the hills on his right.

as he peered ahead into the great land that stretched before him, the way seemed long. but the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction.

the end