I have a use for them." "A use ?" "Ah, a most important one; so important that these birds, ugly and unamiable as they are, must be cared for, as if they were the prettiest and most prized of pets.

We must provide them with food and water; we must tend them by day, and watch over them by night--as though they were some sacred fire, which it was our duty to keep constantly burning." "All that, indeed!" "Verily, brother! The possession of these storks is not only important--it is essential to our safety.

If they should die in our hands, or escape out of them--even if one of them should die or get away--we are lost.

Our last hope lies in them.

I am sure it is our last." "But what hope have you found in them ?" interrogated Caspar--puzzled to make out the meaning of his brother's words, and not without wonder at their apparent wildness.
"Hope?
Every hope.