Even while he was thinking this he spread out his little wings and flew toward the ocean.
In the harbor many silvery-white Seagulls flew about, crying with shill voices, "A storm is coming! A storm is coming!"
"Which ship is going north?" he asked hastily.
"None," answered a Seagull; but this was not true, they were disagreeable birds and wanted to frighten the Sparrow.
But he believed them. "Then I must fly over the ocean," thought he, fearfully. "I must do it, for on me depends the life or death of my Sparrow brothers. I must make good."
Sadly he looked back once more on the wonderland; then flew out on the great waters.
Wild waves dashed up, the storm howled and rain fell. In a few hours, the Sparrow was so tired that he could no longer fly high. The billows made his feathers wet, they were heavy with the
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water and drew him deeper and deeper down. A monstrous wave reached out for him with white arms and the Sparrow fell into the ocean and was swallowed by the waves.