68 THE NIGHT-HAWK 



It consists in partly closing his wings, spreading his 

 tail, and resigning himself to gravitation and fate* He 

 comes toward the earth head-foremost with accelerat- 

 ing speed, but as the sluggish human mind is thinking 

 of borrowing a spade to dig him out he catches his 

 wings full of air and, with a loud whirring noise, turns 

 sharply upward from the threatening roof or fence. 

 He plays this game with great zest. The object is 

 evidently to turn as close to some obstruction as 

 possible without striking it. 



When alight the Night-hawk seems a silent, surly, 

 be-whiskered little barbarian, with none of the 

 graceful or endearing ways displayed on the wing. 

 On a limb he sits lengthwise, rests his tail, doubles 

 up his insignificant legs, and poses as a knot or mal- 

 formation. On a roof he looks like an indolent, over- 

 grown swallow, twisting his head suspiciously about 

 as if he were a stranger in the city. In her domestic 

 establishment the mother Night-hawk impresses the 

 needed lesson of simplicity. She does not build a 

 nest, but merely lays her eggs on the ground. City 

 Night-hawks nest in the suburbs, but an enterprising 

 pair, to show their lack of prejudice, will sometimes 

 establish quarters on a gravel roof. The Night-hawk 

 is a messenger not of peace and good-will but of the 

 great predatory life of the free world. He shows us 

 that the ambitions, struggles, and desires that absorb 

 our life and strength are but atoms in the great 



