Chapter 28

the point flies the leader or captain, the strongest and wisest of the band, and ahead of the main army he sends a skirmishing swan to keep a sharp look-out. This swan's business it is to see if the coast is clear. From time to time he comes rushing back with some warning note. Then there is a great cackling, a pause, and a council. After holding this noisy parliament, the army resumes its course, or changes it, according to the news brought. When the swans reach the lake, they do not swoop down till the captain has made a careful search around, poking among the reeds, flapping over the surface, and even taking a sip of the water, to make sure that nothing has happened to make the lake dangerous for swans since the last time he was there. All being well, he signals to the band, who descend with a rush, and soon cover the water with their graceful forms.

Do pigeons carry watches? How do London pigeons, for instance, tell the hour, and turn up punctually at the feeding-places? At Guildhall Yard the birds come early in the morning to eat the breakfast provided for them, but they do not stay all day. At Finsbury Circus, Draper's Hall Gardens, and other places in London, there are flocks which are carefully fed at regular hours, and those who have the care of them agree that at feeding-time the flocks are always joined by large numbers of guests from without. Perhaps the pigeons ask each other out to dine, mentioning the hours for the meals!

The rough idea of time which all living things possess is keenest in domestic animals. The dogs, cats, horses, donkeys, and others, who know certain days in the week and hours in the day without clock or almanac, may be guided by noticing little events which we do not, but which show them the time; or they may even feel the position of the sun, though it cannot be seen. However this may be, they show a sense which we must admire and may envy. Horses are great observers of time, as many anecdotes show, perhaps none better than this one: A horse belonging to a news-man knew the houses at which his master's journals were delivered, and, when he took them round in the trap, always stopped at the right doors. But this was not all. There were two people--living one at Thorpe, the other at Chertsey--who paid for a weekly paper between them, taking it in turns to read it first. The horse found this out, and would stop one week at Thorpe and the next at Chertsey, alternately.

The mule is not behindhand. A Spanish milk-seller was taken ill, and, being unable to go the rounds or to spare his wife, they agreed to send the mule, who always carried it, alone. A paper was written, asking the customers to measure their own milk, and place the money in a little can for the purpose; this was fastened to the animal's neck, and off he went. At every house where his master was in the habit of selling milk he stopped and waited; but _he did not wait an unreasonable time_. If nobody came, he tried to push the door open, or pulled the string of the bell, which, in Madrid, is usually rung by a cord hanging down. The simple peasants laughed, and fell into the joke; they scorned to cheat the dumb milkman, and the clever mule took his money home in triumph.

It is not the higher animals alone who are time-keepers. Menault tells of a friendly toad, living in a garden, who would appear at the family dinner-time, and sit upon the stone ledge outside the window to get a share. The hour was changed, for some reason, from noon to three in the afternoon, and, for the first time, the uninvited guest was absent--once, but once only. On the second day after the change he was squatting at the new hour ready for his saucer of milk.

EDITH CARRINGTON.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(_Continued from page 243._)