tude of about three hundred feet. This was well up out of shotgun reach. True, occasional ambitious hunters would take a shot at them at this altitude, but no harm was done. It was a magnificent sight, as the Gray Squadron swept away southward, flying with strong, even strokes, the most wonderful flying machine in nature.
As long as the daylight lasted, they flew rather silently, but when darkness settled down they talked to each other, or at least that was what it sounded like. One might have heard low, sleepy squawks all along the line. These came at regular intervals and were signal sounds to keep the flock together and flying at a uniform altitude. The great danger in flying at night is that they might get to flying too low and collide with church steeples or other high and dangerous obstructions. But usually their sense of approaching obstacles would save them from a disaster of the kind; still such things have happened.
My reader may wonder how, in perfect darkness, without a compass or chart, the admiral
