“I’VE got a beautiful gull,” Vevi announced proudly. “See!”

Pulling aside the sweater, she showed the Brownies a white pigeon with arched wings and well-formed tail.

One of the wings though, appeared to have been injured, for it hung limp.

“Vevi calls that a gull!” scoffed Jane.

“It’s a carrier pigeon and it’s been hurt!” exclaimed Sunny.

By this time the car was moving swiftly along the narrow stretch of beach. Mrs. Williams and Miss Gordon no longer were worried for the sand was hard and firm. As they neared the cottages at Silver Beach, the roadway also became much wider.

Captain Tarwell was very much interested in Vevi’s bird. He examined the wing, which he said was only bruised, not broken. Then he looked at a metal band fastened to the pigeon’s leg. The band bore the number 68971.

“Is the bird carrying a message?” Connie asked eagerly.

“No, only this identification number,” Captain Tarwell replied. “With kind treatment, the pigeon should fly again soon.”

“Where did you find him, Vevi?” Rosemary questioned, eager for all the details.

“In the dunes near the lighthouse. I think I’ll call my bird Snow White. Snow White tried to get away, but he couldn’t fly because of his wing. Is he really a messenger pigeon?”

“Aye,” the seaman assured her. “A young one though. It may have run into trouble on its first flight.”

“Maybe it came from across the ocean,” Vevi speculated.

“Hardly that far,” answered the captain. “From the number, I’d judge this pigeon may belong to Harmon Green’s loft.”

Vevi had never heard of Harmon Green. She asked where his place was situated.

“About a quarter of a mile from Silver Beach,” Captain Tarwell replied. “Mr. Green breeds and races pigeons. If this isn’t his pigeon, at least he’ll know how to find and notify the owner.”

Vevi stroked the pigeon’s plumage, not saying anything. She had hoped that the bird could belong to her. But she knew now that she must try to find its owner.

“Snow White is a stupid name for a racing pigeon,” spoke up Jane. “Especially for one that isn’t a girl.”

“I like it,” Vevi said. “Captain Tarwell, how far can a pigeon fly?”

“Oh, that depends on the bird,” he returned. “The best racing homers have been known to wing home a thousand miles. But not young, untrained birds.”

“I’ll bet Snow White could fly a long way if he hadn’t hurt his wing,” Vevi declared proudly.

Soon the car approached Starfish and Oriole Cottages. As everyone alighted at the bathhouse, Mrs. Williams remarked that she didn’t know what to do about Vevi’s pigeon.

“Tell you what,” offered the captain. “If you like, I’ll take the pigeon to Harmon Green.”

Vevi spoke up quickly. “I want to go along,” she insisted. “So do I,” Connie added.

All the other Brownies then wanted to go. However, Miss Gordon thought it would be unfair for Captain Tarwell to look after so many children. So it was decided that Vevi and Connie, having spoken first, should make the trip.

Taking Snow White with them, the two girls walked with Captain Tarwell into the hills. A shady, winding street finally brought them to a gray shingle house. Off to one side was a small building which looked like a garage with a flat roof.

“That’s the pigeon cote,” Captain Tarwell told the girls. “Hey, what’s coming off here?”

From the direction of the flat-roofed building the girls heard a strange commotion. Birds were making a fearful clatter. They could hear a man talking very angrily.

As Captain Tarwell and the children walked toward the pigeon cote, the door swung suddenly open.

Out came a young man in dirty overalls and grimy white cap. His face was very grim.

“Don’t ever come back here looking for a job,” another man in the doorway called after him. “You don’t know how to handle birds.” The man in the doorway, who was Mr. Green, saw Captain Tarwell and the two girls. He knew the seaman well, calling him by name.

“Having your troubles, I see,” observed Captain Tarwell.

“Operating a pigeon loft with hired help is no fun,” Mr. Green replied. “I had to fire young Gradbrough just now. He excites the birds and doesn’t handle them skillfully. He neglects to clean the cages too.”

“Lose any birds?” Captain Tarwell questioned him.

“I lost three in the last flight test. That looks like one of my birds.”

Mr. Green’s gaze had fastened upon Snow White, snuggled in Vevi’s arms.

Vevi told him where she had found the pigeon. Mr. Green briefly examined the leg band and confirmed that the bird belonged to him.

“Frankly, I don’t think the pigeon is worth its feed,” he added. “In two different tests it failed miserably.”

“But Snow White’s wing was hurt,” Vevi said, coming quickly to the bird’s defense. “How could he fly back home?”

“The pigeon isn’t as strong as it should be,” Mr. Green explained. “I breed for profit. If a bird fails repeatedly in tests, it must be culled out.”

The cote owner examined the pigeon very carefully and put it into one of the wire cages.

“It will be all right in a few days,” he said. “Then I’ll make one more test. If the bird fails another time, out it goes.”

The pigeon cote had been divided into sections set apart by mesh wire fence. Old birds were separated from young ones. Those that were sick were housed in a special pen.

Mr. Green filled the water pans and placed grain in long feeding troughs. The birds could not crowd each other because a six-inch space was provided for each one.

Adjoining the cote was an exercise cage. The building itself was set in an open place, facing south so that more sunshine would filter in.

Mr. Green told the Brownies that in training pigeons one had to be very patient.

“Food is the key to success,” he declared. “A pigeon always will return to the place where it has been fed.”

The cote owner explained that in training racers he began by whistling for the birds just before he fed them. After a week, he would place the pigeon on a landing platform outside the loft. When another training period had elapsed, he would start leaving the birds a short distance away but in view of the loft.

“They’ll always return to the landing platform in search of food,” Mr. Green said. “The first real test comes when I take the pigeons in a basket some distance away and release them in a group. After that test, I try them singly at one mile, then five and perhaps ten miles. The pigeon you girls returned failed both the five and the ten-mile test.”

“I hope you give Snow White another chance,” Vevi said.

“In the first test I thought the pigeon might have been confused by the fog,” Mr. Green said. “This last time, the bird may have run into other trouble. The others came back though. So I’m about through bothering with it.”

As Captain Tarwell and the Brownies were ready to leave, Mr. Green asked the seaman if he knew of any young man who would like a job at the pigeon cote.

“Not off hand, I don’t,” Captain Tarwell answered. “I’ll keep it in mind though.”

“I pay good wages,” Mr. Green said. “The work is exacting though. I need a dependable person, one who can be trusted to handle the birds when my back is turned.”

Vevi was a little worried about what would be done with Snow White.

“You really think he’ll get well?” she asked the cote owner anxiously.

“Oh, he’ll be all right in a day or two,” Mr. Green replied. “The wing isn’t broken. But as I said, I doubt the pigeon ever will be any good for racing.”

“You will give him one more chance?” Vevi pleaded again.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Mr. Green asked a trifle impatiently. “I’m testing a basketful of birds Wednesday. If your pigeon is well enough, I’ll include him in the lot.”

“May all the Brownies watch the test?” Connie asked. “I’m sure they’d like to see the birds fly home.”

Mr. Green said he had no objection.

“We’ll be here!” Vevi declared, her eyes bright. “And I know Snow White will do splendidly next time. He’ll make all the Brownies very proud.”