Still he flew steadily on. But now he flew slowly, every beat of his wings caused him dreadful pain. He began to hate the sun, this merciless glowing red sphere that would not go down. To give himself courage, he made up a little song, singing it very softly and moving his tired wings in time to its rhythm.
My strength must save them all;
If I fail I do wrong to the others,
And their chains will never fall."
At last, at last, great black shadows fell upon the earth. A refreshing breeze came flying, coolly fanning the weary Sparrow, carrying him gently along on its mighty wings.
As the sun went down behind a blue hill, the tired Sparrow alighted on a large meadow. He lay panting in the tall grass. The soft chirping of the crickets lulled him to sleep; his eyes closed.
Rough, loud voices of men awakened him. Under a knotty old nut tree he saw two ragged, dust-covered men seated. One of them
