142 RIVERBY 



with his bow and arrow. He would strike at a dry 

 leaf in the grass, or at a fallen apple, or at some 

 imaginary object. He was learning the use of his 

 weapons. His wings also, he seemed to feel them 

 sprouting from his shoulder. He would lift them 

 straight up and hold them expanded, and they would 

 seem to quiver with excitement. Every hour in the 

 day he would do this. The pressure was beginning 

 to centre there. Then he would strike playfully at 

 a leaf or a bit of wood, and keep his wings lifted. 



The next step was to spring into the air and beat 

 his wings. He seemed now to be thinking entirely 

 of his wings. They itched to be put to use. 



A day or two later -he would leap and fly several 

 feet. A pile of brush ten or twelve feet below the 

 bank was easily reached. Here he would perch in 

 true hawk fashion, to the bewilderment and scandal 

 of all the robins and catbirds in the vicinity. Here 

 he would dart his eye in all directions, turning his 

 head over and glancing it up into the sky. 



He was now a lovely creature, fully fledged, and 

 as tame as a kitten. But he was not a bit like a 

 kitten in one respect, he could not bear to have 

 you stroke or even touch his plumage. He had a 

 horror of your hand, as if it would hopelessly defile 

 him. But he would perch upon it, and allow you 

 to carry him about. If a dog or cat appeared, he 

 was ready to give battle instantly. He rushed up 

 to a little dog one day, and struck him with his foot 

 savagely. He was afraid of strangers, and of any 

 unusual object. 



