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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
58
V
We
have
no
means
of
looking
into
the
Pigeon's
mind;
we
may
go
wrong
in
conjuring
up
for
it
deep
thoughts
of
love
and
welcome
home;
but
we
are
safe
in
this,
we
cannot
too
strongly
paint,
we
cannot
too
highly
praise
and
glorify
that
wonderful
God-implanted,
mankind-fostered
home-love
that
glows
unquenchably
in
this
noble
bird.
Call
it
what
you
like,
a
mere
instinct
deliberately
constructed
by
man
for
his
selfish
ends,
explain
it
away
if
you
will,
dissect
it,
misname
it,
and
it
still
is
there,
in
overwhelming,
imperishable
master-power,
as
long
as
the
brave
little
heart
and
wings
can
beat.
Home,
home,
sweet
home!
Never
had
mankind
a
stronger
love
of
home
than
Arnaux.
The
trials
and
sorrows
of
the
old
pigeon-loft
were
forgotten
in
that
all-dominating
force
of
his
nature.
Not
years
of
prison
bars,
not
later
loves,
nor
fear
of
death,
could
down
its
power;
and
Arnaux,
had
the
gift
of
song
been
his,
must
surely
have
sung
as
sings
a
hero
in
his
highest
joy,
when
sprang
he
from
the
'lighting
board,
up-circling
free,
soaring,
drawn
by
the
only
impulse
that
those
glorious
wings
would
honor,--up,
up,
in
widening,
heightening
circles
of
ashy
blue
in
the
blue,
flashing
those
many-lettered
wings
of
white,
till
they
seemed
like
jets
of
fire--up
and
on,
driven
by
that
home-love,
faithful
to
his
only
home
and
to
his
faithless
mate;
closing
his
eyes,
they
say;
closing
his
ears,
they
tell;
shutting
his
mind,--we
all
believe,--to
nearer
things,
to
two
years
of
his
life,
to
one
half
of
his
prime,
but
soaring
in
the
blue,
retiring,
as
a
saint
might
do,
into
his
inner
self,
giving
himself
up
to
that
inmost
guide.
He
was
the
captain
of
the
ship,
but
the
pilot,
the
chart
and
compass,
all,
were
that
deep-implanted
instinct.
One
thousand
feet
above
the
trees
the
inscrutable
whisper
came,
and
Arnaux
in
arrowy
swiftness
now
was
pointing
for
the
south-southeast.
The
little
flashes
of
white
fire
on
each
side
were
lost
in
the
low
sky,
and
the
reverent
robber
of
Syracuse
saw
Arnaux
nevermore.
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