6 The Field Naturalist's Quarterly Feb. 



sat down quietly against a weather-worn root that blended 

 with the grey of my jacket, and focussed my glasses steadily 

 on Cheplahgan to see what he would do. 



Soon the erratic circles narrowed to a centre, about which 

 the great eagle turned as on a pivot ; the wild cry was 

 hushed, and he spread his wings wide and stiff, as an eagle 

 does when resting on the air. For several minutes I could 

 see no motion ; he seemed just a tiny dark line drawn across 

 the infinite blue background. Then the line grew longer, 

 heavier ; and I knew that he was coming down straight 

 towards me. 



Lower and lower he came, slanting slowly down in a long 

 incline by imperceptible degrees, without a quiver of his 

 wide-set wings. Lower still and nearer, till I saw with 

 wonder that his head, instead of being carried eagle fashion, 

 in a perfect line with body and tail, drooped forward 

 as if it were heavy. Straight over the point he sailed, so 

 near that I heard the faint crackle of his pinions, like the 

 rustle of heavy silk. The head drooped lower still ; the 

 fierce, wild eyes were half closed as he passed. Only once 

 did he veer slightly, to escape a tall stub that thrust its 

 naked bulk above the woods athwart his path. Then with 

 rigid wings he crossed the bay below the point, still slanting 

 gently down to earth, and vanished silently into the drooping 

 arms of the dark woods beyond. 



Clearly something was wrong with Cheplahgan. Such an 

 eagle's flight was never seen before. I marked the spot 

 where he disappeared, between two giant trees, and followed 

 swiftly in my canoe. Just within the fringe of forest I found 

 him, resting peacefully for the first time on mother earth, 

 his head lying across the moss-cushioned root of an old 

 cedar, his wings outstretched among the cool green ferns — 

 dead. 



Behind my tent in the wilderness, last summer, was a 

 little spring. I used to go there often, not to drink, but 

 just to sit beside it awhile and grow quiet, watching its 

 cool waters bubble up out of the dark earth amid dancing 

 pebbles to steal away among the ferns and mosses on its 

 errand of unchanging mercy. Now and then, as I watched, 

 the little wild things would hear the low tinkle of invitation 



