G. N. Shrike, Butcher 145 



looked longingly downward through the interlacing stems at 

 the sparrows. It paid no heed to its human observer who 

 was standing within a few feet and who, to his amazement, 

 saw an utter absence of any appearance of fear on the part of 

 the sparrows. They apparently knew that the shrike could 

 not strike them down because of the intervening branches. 

 They must have known also that owing to the comparative 

 clumsiness of their pursuer when making its way on foot 

 through and along twigs and limbs, they could easily elude 

 him if he made an attempt at capture after that manner. 

 Finally the shrike forsook the tip of the lilac and began 

 working its way downward along the outer edge of the shrub. 

 When it had approached to a point as near as the sparrows 

 thought was comfortable, they shifted their position in the 

 bush. The shrike saw that the quest was useless unless he 

 could start them to flight. He tried it, but they were too 

 cunning for him, and he at last gave up the chase, the pro- 

 gress of which actually seemed to humiliate him. He flew 

 afar off, where perhaps the prospects of dinner were better. 

 I once saw a goldfinch in winter plumage escape a great 

 northern shrike by taking a flight directly at the zenith. 

 The shrike followed the dainty little tidbit far up, until the 

 larger bird was only a speck and the little one had disappeared 

 entirely. The shrike apparently could neither stand the pace 

 nor the altitude, and the watchers, with whom the goldfinch 

 was the favorite in the race, rejoiced with the winner. 



