A Book on Birds 



ming over the clover, straight for your 

 face, his blue back glistening, his breast 

 warm and ruddy, his forked tail (and 

 he is the only bird in our climate that has 

 a genuinely forked tail) as stiff and straight 

 with the speed of his flight as the barbs 

 of an arrow. Here he comes now! Quick, 

 dodge! Good, you're safe! 



Yet it was not your dodge that kept 

 him from hitting you, but his, when he 

 was scarcely ten feet away. 



Look out! He's coming again; back 

 of you this time. Quick, dodge! There! 

 — he just missed your ear. But it was 

 his miss once more. 



Yes, that's right! Make a swipe at 

 him with your hat as he passes; but don't 

 hit him — because you can't; and it's a 

 waste of energy to really try; for he will 

 escape you, even if it be only by the frac- 

 tion of an inch. But swipe away, never- 

 theless. The more of it you do, the quicker 

 and oftener he will return, being as fully 

 alert and alive to the game as you are, 

 and enjoying it quite as thoroughly. So 



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