was a condor; he lit in the barnyard and I was astonished that it was a wild goose. Our rooster hit him and he rose and circled and again lit twenty feet from me. I yelled for the neighbor who kept guns and one ran over, resting his gun on the fence and shot him, while I held fast to the team. It was great to think of killing game right in your own barnyard. I ran to pick him up, when father who was in the orchard yelled at me not to touch him. I said, “We have killed a goose in the barnyard, a wild goose.” “No,” said he, “don’t handle him; I want to feel of your head first to see if you have any bump of memory.” Father said, “Do you see that band of geese flying in a circle next to the hill? You used to tell me you could understand this little goose’s language and could talk some of it. If you remember any of it now, go out there as near as they will let you approach them and tell them they need not wait for their friend; he is never coming back.”
By this time I had realized all. I could recognize his every feature, even to the little black, glossy, soft eyes, which were now half open. Father asked if I saw what had hap-
