The Story of a Red-tailed Hawk.— In Two Parts 



PART II 



By MRS. A. B. MORGAN. \Voodstock, Vt. 



AS THE winter of Johnny's first year approached, there arose the ques- 

 tion, "What can I do with him, or what ought I to do with him?" Some 

 advised me to let him go, but he did not know how to fly. He could 

 fly about the shed, mount his various perches that were from five to eight feet 

 high, but of the outside world and of how to get his prey, he knew nothing. 

 Sometimes, as I opened the doors, the focus of his eyes would change, and a 

 look that seemed to penetrate to the far horizon would come. His body un- 

 consciously crouched to the earth, and he waited for a lifting breeze to carry 

 him where his wondering vision led, but it was all over in a moment. Suddenly 

 he would look at me with an expression that plainly said — "I know you, what 

 is that which surrounds you and me?" 



So I decided to have a platform arranged in the cellar, where he could be 

 kept warm and not have his liberty entirely restricted. He seemed to enjoy 

 his new quarters and would turn and twist his head in greeting, uttering a 

 chicken-like peep to every member of the family who visited him. My father 

 he distrusted and feared, as he did most men. My husband, who liked him and 

 often fed him, he seemed to understand and like in return. His wonderful 

 intuitive faculties were shown in his recognizing traits of character. One girl 

 who visited him said, as she descended the stairs, "If I had that bird, I'd kill 

 him." He met her with wings outspread, his crest raised, his mouth wide open, 

 his eyes glowing with hate. Never before had we seen such manifestations, 

 and could only infer that it was her raucous voice that so inflamed him. Yet 

 with other visitors he showed decided likes and dislikes, flying down to greet 

 some, while with others he would retire to the farthest corner and refuse to do 

 one cunning thing. My sister often talked with him and, as she changed her 

 voice, his corresponding variations of ee-ee-ee, accompanied by head gestures, 

 would set us all laughing. Sometimes in the evening we would go to him with 

 a light, and he, blinking, would rouse himself to greet us and turn on his perch 

 to face us. His going to bed meant that he turned his back on us and mounted 

 the highest perch he had, so that his head barely cleared the floor above. Not 

 very far from his platform was a bricked-in furnace and, when the cold days 

 came so that he felt the change, he was found in front of the hearth examining 

 the furnace and listening to the fire. His conclusions were such that the next 

 morning he was on the hearth enjoying the heat and looking so sweet and con- 

 tented when discovered. Having disappeared from his platform one day, my 

 sister, not knowing what had become of him, began searching and calling. Not 

 a sound — she felt sure something unfortunate had happened to him. Finally 

 from a dim corner came a faint ee-ee in response to her call. "Johnny, where 

 are you?" Going where the sound came from, she discovered him hiding. He 



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