“All at once my own faculties were fully restored; I could see and hear everything, and be fully conscious of what was going on.  Even the figures of the baleful group were there, though dimly seen as through a veil—­a shadowy veil.  I saw Lilla sink down in a swoon, and Mimi throw up her arms in a gesture of triumph.  As I saw her through the great window, the sunshine flooded the landscape, which, however, was momentarily becoming eclipsed by an onrush of a myriad birds.”

By the next morning, daylight showed the actual danger which threatened.  From every part of the eastern counties reports were received concerning the enormous immigration of birds.  Experts were sending—­on their own account, on behalf of learned societies, and through local and imperial governing bodies—­reports dealing with the matter, and suggesting remedies.

The reports closer to home were even more disturbing.  All day long it would seem that the birds were coming thicker from all quarters.  Doubtless many were going as well as coming, but the mass seemed never to get less.  Each bird seemed to sound some note of fear or anger or seeking, and the whirring of wings never ceased nor lessened.  The air was full of a muttered throb.  No window or barrier could shut out the sound, till the ears of any listener became dulled by the ceaseless murmur.  So monotonous it was, so cheerless, so disheartening, so melancholy, that all longed, but in vain, for any variety, no matter how terrible it might be.

The second morning the reports from all the districts round were more alarming than ever.  Farmers began to dread the coming of winter as they saw the dwindling of the timely fruitfulness of the earth.  And as yet it was only a warning of evil, not the evil accomplished; the ground began to look bare whenever some passing sound temporarily frightened the birds.

Edgar Caswall tortured his brain for a long time unavailingly, to think of some means of getting rid of what he, as well as his neighbours, had come to regard as a plague of birds.  At last he recalled a circumstance which promised a solution of the difficulty.  The experience was of some years ago in China, far up-country, towards the head-waters of the Yang-tze-kiang, where the smaller tributaries spread out in a sort of natural irrigation scheme to supply the wilderness of paddy-fields.  It was at the time of the ripening rice, and the myriads of birds which came to feed on the coming crop was a serious menace, not only to the district, but to the country at large.  The farmers, who were more or less afflicted with the same trouble every season, knew how to deal with it.  They made a vast kite, which they caused to be flown over the centre spot of the incursion.  The kite was shaped like a great hawk; and the moment it rose into the air the birds began to cower and seek protection—­and then to disappear.  So long as that kite was flying overhead the birds lay low and the crop was saved.