Far out on the bosom of the wide ocean lay Lonely Island, a small, rock-bound hummock of sand against which the breakers roared and dashed furiously. So wild and barren was the spot that no one visited it, for no human being could live there; nothing throve but rank grasses and stunted beech plum shrubs. Over upon the south side of the island were steep ledges, shelving down into deep water, and this spot alone was never lonely or still, because it was inhabited by thousands of screaming water-fowl.  
Down between the cliffs in the lowliest tenements dwelt the snipe and petrel families, the latter seldom at home except during their nesting season. Along the shelf-like places of the rocks above dwelt the gannets, the terns and all other tribes belonging to the gull family. High up in their home crannies the sea birds could always catch the pearly shimmer of the breaking of an approaching school of herrings, even before they reached the line of tossing foam below. Then, swift and sure, they would dart out to meet them. It was wonderful to watch the herring gulls at their fishing, now skimming low over giant, green waves, now sinking into the trough of the sea. Then, with a sudden swift splash of feathery spray, behold the sharp-eyed gull secures the fish and is back again in his own nest upon the cliff. Strangely enough, although the cliff was swarmed with other gull families, each cranny bearing its nest looking precisely like another, never did a returning gull make a mistake or intrude upon another family.
 
For many seasons the gulls and their kindred had nested upon Lonely Island, but one year hunters discovered their retreat, and set up a temporary camp upon the barren sands. They had come to hunt for terns, killing and slaughtering them by hundreds, just for the sake of their beautiful, delicate feathers for which they were to be paid much money. Finally the hunters abandoned the island, leaving behind them many wounded, besides scores of deserted young birds, not out of the pin-feather age, who would finally pine and die alone upon the lonely ledges, when the parent birds failed to come back to feed them.
 
For a season, fear and chaos reigned among the gull settlements. Day after day the frightened sea fowl circled wildly about their cliffs, their weird, lonely calls alone breaking the silence, ringing even above the noise of the breakers below them. So many of the colonies were broken up and disturbed that they flew off in detached numbers, perhaps seeking some safer retreat inland.
 
High up, perched upon one of the topmost crags of Lonely Island, sat all alone a solitary gull. Below, within sight, upon a shelf-like rock, a smaller bird, his mate, sat disconsolately upon the very edge of her dismantled nest, unwilling to tear herself away from two featherless young gulls, her babies, who would never stretch out their long necks to her for food again. They were limp and dead—the hunters had wantonly thrown down loose rocks and broken up the nest.
 
Although Silver Wing, the old leader of the gull tribe, felt badly enough over the loss of the little gulls, he was much older and wiser than his mourning mate; he had lived through many seasons and similar tragic events in his life. So even while his mate sat mourning, his sharp eyes had been fixed upon a certain wave crest out beyond the breaker line.
 
With a sudden swift rush of his wide wings he launched himself from the cliff; a wild plunge and he rose from the great wave bearing aloft a glistening herring. With a graceful sweeping detour, he swerved in toward the cliff, and finally landed close beside his mate, where he dropped the fish beside her with a little crooning, plaintive cry, which meant, of course, "Take this nice herring which I have brought you, and be comforted, little mate." With another swirl of his wings he flew to fish for another herring before the school could get away.
 
 HE ROSE FROM THE GREAT WAVE, BEARING ALOFT A GLISTENING HERRING. 
HE ROSE FROM THE GREAT WAVE, 
BEARING ALOFT A GLISTENING HERRING.
In spite of the efforts of Silver Wing, who tried for days to rouse his mate and tempt her to fly off over the water upon fishing trips, she continued to linger around the old nest until he became almost discouraged. Finally he determined to leave Lonely Island, start off and found a new home, as many of his kindred had already done after the invasion of the cruel hunters. Accordingly, Silver Wing, in some manner known to his tribe, induced his companion to accompany him upon a long flight. One fine day, in company with others of the colony who decided to follow their old leader, they started for the far distant coast.
 
Occasionally they would halt upon some small, lonely island, but, as it happened, none of them proved to be exactly suited to the gulls' needs. The islands were often flat and sterile, mere strips of white sand and beech grass, with no rocky ledges suitable for nest building. So on and on flew the gulls, with heavy wings. Sometimes they would sight what appeared to be a small island, from which would trail long streamers of smoke. When the gulls came up close to these islands they would be terrified by strange, uncanny hootings and tootings. Besides, whenever they gained courage to hover over these strange, floating islands, they always proved to be filled with people, creatures like the hunters. One thing they discovered was that by following in the wake of the floating islands they always found plenty to eat, strange food of all kinds upon which they eagerly fed.
 
For a sea bird the worst storms at sea have small terror. The petrels, or "Mother Gary's Chickens," as the sailors call these birds, love best, it is said, to ride upon the very crest of a giant wave during a wild storm, and the gulls are equally at home upon the bosom of the ocean. It is only when straying birds are adrift, seeking a new country, and are driven ahead of a storm toward the coast, that they are occasionally overcome by the elements. So it happened that a great storm arose and struck the colony of fleeing gulls, sweeping them inland. On their great wide wings they flew ahead of the gale, on and ever on through the blackness of the inky night, until at last the poor wind-driven things finally sighted an object big and bright, beckoning, winking to them out of the darkness; and toward this the gulls, and a host of other smaller straying birds who were swept ahead of the storm, made their way. Hopefully they neared the bright beacon. The ............