thousands
on the water, resting and waiting.

But even if the flock flies past, there is always uneasiness and noise
when they come over Aarre Water. The ranks break, for a time the whole
becomes a confused mass, while they all scream and quack at the same
time.

Only slowly do they form again and fly southward in long lines, until
they shrink to thinner and thinner threads in the gray autumn sky, and
their last sound follows them upon the north wind.

Then I always believe that there has been a debate as to whether they
should take a little rest down on Aarre Water. There are certainly many
old ones who know the place again, and plenty of the young are
tender-winged, and would fain sit on the water and dawdle away a
half-day's time.

But when it is eventually resolved to fly on without stopping, and the
lines again begin to arrange themselves, it has become clear to me that
each seeks his own place in the ranks slanting outwards behind the
leaders, so that by this means he may be conducted along with the train
without being under the necessity of troubling about the way.

If these large, heavy birds were to fly in a cluster for weeks, day and
night, separation and confusion would be inevitable. They would get in
each other's way every minute with their heavy wings, there would be
such a noise that the leader's voice could not be distinguished, and it
would be impossible to keep an eye upon him after dark. Besides, over
half the number are young birds, who are undertaking this tremendous
journey for the first time, and who naturally, at Aarre Water, begin to
ask if it be the Nile that they see. Time would be lost, the flock would
be broken up, and all the young would perish on the journey, if there
were not, in the very disposition of the ranks, something of the
beautiful reasoning thought binding them together.

Let us now consider the first bird, who leads the flock--presumably an
old experienced gander. He feels an impulse towards the south, but he
undoubtedly bends his n