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 the sleeping wild-fowl in the far-off bays of the harbor. With the first light they went ashore, reckless and careless; and Beanling, looking upon them for the last time, realized for the first time that, in spite of all the gaiety and the proud spirits, they were sorrowful exiles in a strange city, far from the walls of the fathers. And he went on his way saddened. It was the same at Nagasaki, at Kobe, and at Yokohama. Faces that he had learned to look for when he shored at those ports smiled on him again; voices long since familiar told him again of trials and ambitions. Mothers drew back the coverlets, and showed him the youngest born. And many little children made much of him. Ahead was a narrowing ocean; behind, thousands of miles of good-bys. There are few faces to which, with the knowledge that we shall never see them again, we can say good-by without emotion. To say good-by with the meaning, "Good luck," "God be with you," is so easy, so pleasant; to say "Good-by. I shall never see your face