38 Lonely JourneyThe Golden Eagle, poised up near the sun, glared down on Britain, seeing all with his diamond-pointed eye; so high, so high, that all the coloured scroll was laid before him—each river, stream and tiny spring; each mountain, hill and hummock; each plain and paddock, forest and grove, city and lonely hovel—everything.
And the Golden Eagle observed that the land had suddenly become a teeming ant-hill; a place of hurrying, scurrying, swarming creatures.
The Golden Eagle speculated for a while, letting the scene glint through his cold prismatic eye on to the white sheet of his cold brain. The smaller birds were glad of this respite.
Then the Golden Eagle seemed to recognise some purpose in all the movement below him on the earth. To the west, long lines of ants, glistening
