JOHN'S HAWK. 



EMMA YARNALL ROSS. 



JOHN came home one evening 

 from a ramble in the country 

 with a peach-box under his arm. 

 He set the box very carefully on 

 the back porch and then sat down him 

 self on the top of the box. 



His mother was watering, some gera 

 niums in a bed near by and paused in 

 her work to look at the lad. 



"Where did you get those peaches, 

 John?" she asked, coming toward him 

 with a pleasant smile. 



John gave a low laugh. "This is a 

 peach box, mother," he said, "but if 

 what is in it is a peach, it belongs to a 

 new variety, I think. Look at him, he 

 is a beauty!" 



"John Bonham, I hope you have not 

 brought another pet to this house! 

 Where in the world are we to stow 

 away all these creatures on one little 

 town lot? There is your groundhog, 

 your owl, the crow, the coot, the tub of 

 fish, the big dog, the little dog, and 

 three Christopher Columbus cats." 



"Now, mother, please stop; poor 

 Chuck stays most of the time in his 

 hole under the corner of the house, and 

 the owl keeps the mice out of the cel 

 lar, and Jim Crow has not stolen any 

 thing for a month except that half dol 

 lar and your piece of lace and sister's 

 red ribbon. You said I might have the 

 wash boiler to make a swimming-pool 

 for the coot, and I am going to feed 

 the fish to him, so they will soon be 

 gone and you can have your tub again. 

 I heard you tell Mrs. Bland that our dogs 

 guarded the whole neighborhood from 

 burglars, and my Christopher Colum 

 bus cats are cute enough for anyone to 

 be glad to have them. Mrs. Goodall 

 says she 'wants one of them real bad.' 

 You see, mother," said John, persua 

 sively, "this fellow was such a beauty 

 I just had to bring him home. Jake 

 Timmons shot him through the wing 

 as he was carrying off a dove; he was 

 going to wring the hawk's head off, but 

 I told him I would give him ten cents 

 for it, for I wanted to try an experi 



ment with the bird. I know I can tame 

 him and make a pet of him; see, he 

 ^ can move around even if his wing is 

 broken." 



John's mother looked through the 

 bars of the peach crate and saw a full- 

 grown hawk with a beautiful brown 

 head, eyes with blood-red rims, a 

 strong, hooked beak, and long talons 

 which he struck angrily into the stick 

 John thrust at him through the bars. 



"I never saw a more fierce, cruel- 

 lookingbird," she said. "Seehim tear at 

 that stick! He will be tearing you 

 next." 



"I shall give him no chance to tear 

 me, mother, for I intend to tame him." 



"You might as well try to tame a 

 tiger." 



"Well, I am going to try taming 

 him, "saidjohn, in alow, determined tone. 

 When his mother heard him speak in 

 that way she knew his mind was made 

 up to succeed, and he had never yet 

 failed in taming any of his pets. 



John put the hawk in his dog-house, 

 the front ot which was formed of strong 

 iron bars, and the next day his mother 

 saw him sitting before this improvised 

 bird-cage, going through some fantas 

 tic motions with his hands and gently 

 chirping to the bird. No accident hap 

 pened to the young naturalist in his 

 care of the hawk, and gradually his 

 mother ceased to think of it. 



One afternoon, about three weeks 

 after this, the family were seated on 

 the piazza when they were startled at 

 seeing John come around the corner of 

 the house bearing the hawk on his 

 wrist. Over the bird's head was drawn 

 a gay-colored hood adorned with tiny 

 bells and tassels John had read how 

 hawks were dressed in medieval times, 

 and had made the hood himself. A 

 long string was tied to one of the 

 hawk's legs, and, setting the bird down 

 gently, the boy tied the string to a 

 small tree. All were watching him to 

 see what he would do next, and all kept 

 silence as he lifted a warning hand and 



42 



