The two girls in the boat gazed up, with envious interest at the men struggling on the shore. Each wished that she were waiting across the lagoon while angry men fought to reach her.
Now the schoolmaster was talking and flourishing his hand but no one would listen to him. Now a shadow fell like the wing of a crow. The afterglow changed from petunia to orange. The hunter's moon sailed upward in the melting twilight of the sky.
Another figure had entered the far end of the park. A man, alone, running like the wind, all the muscles in his strong, compact body moving in sweet accord. Along the race course he ran like a race horse. Now he left it and sped toward the lagoon. . . . Above him in a dark column flew the crows. All those that lived in the pine wood were there, winging along the evening sky with great, strong strokes. Soon they would be going South—tomorrow perhaps—the urge was in their blood. But now there was this wild flying together.
To Jimmy Sykes they were friends. He stretched his legs the faster when he heard their cries of encouragement:
"Here's Jimmy! Young Jim's here! Come to fetch his gal. His pretty gal—pretty gal! Help them, lads—hurt those that hurt them—peck their eyes out—tear their hearts out—Delight's foes—Delight—'Light—'Light—" A mad uproar of caws.
Jimmy was shoving his way among the men now, his face flaming, his sandy hair erect. He made as though to leap into the boat but some of the men caught him by the arms and held him, struggling. Only a moment they restrained him, for Kirke was at his side.
"Fine nicht, Jim," he bit off. "You're the mon. I'll uphaud ye."
Guarded by Kirke's steel arms, heaved by Kirke into
