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[86] 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[89] 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[91] 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[94] 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[95] 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[96] 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.
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[100] 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[103] 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,[106] 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.