of tbe 1FU0bt 



When the bird was gone, I continued to think of 

 it and hawks in general, rather than my uncom- 

 fortable journey, and the path was smoothed by 

 so doing. In short, I let my legs and instinct find 

 their way home, while I busied myself with other 

 matters. 



It is not until the end of August that the 

 hawks become noticeable. Even the little spar- 

 row-hawk that nests in hollow-trees and, if 

 looked for, is to be found all summer, is not 

 conspicuous when the trees are in full leaf 

 and acre after acre of idle fields is breast-high 

 with weeds. In June, and later, I see many 

 more of them along the river shore than inland; 

 but now, when there is a hint of autumn in the 

 passing breeze, I see the swallow-like blue-gray 

 hawks, three kinds of them, darting over the 

 wilderness of wild rice, a terror to the gathering 

 reed-birds and huge flocks of redwings. Later, 

 the great marsh-harrier sails majestically over the 

 mucky meadow, and sweeps the tapering points 

 of the wild grasses and dull-gold growths of the 

 heavy sedges. The sparrows rush madly about, 

 and seem too terrified even to chirp. Still later, 

 on the dead limbs that project above the sur- 

 rounding tree-tops, the black hawk and broad- 

 winged buzzard appear, ever on the watch, and 

 usually very difficult to approach. Many a per- 

 son, strangely enough, will pass by and see no- 

 thing of all this; but why so blind as not to 

 5* 69 



