138 A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 



probably the prettiest and the whitest hand the 

 quail had ever seen. At least it startled her, 

 and off she sprang, uncovering such a crowded 

 nest of eggs as I had never before beheld. 

 Twenty-one of them ! a ring or disk of white 

 like a china tea-saucer. You could not help say- 

 ing how pretty, how cunning, like baby hen's 

 eggs, as if the bird was playing at sitting as 

 children play at housekeeping. 



If I had known how crowded her nest was, 

 I should not have dared disturb her, for fear 

 she would break some of them. But not an ess 

 suffered harm by her sudden flight; and no 

 harm came to the nest afterward. Every egg 

 hatched, I was told, and the little chicks, 

 hardly bigger than bumblebees, were led away 

 by the mother into the fields. 



In about a week I paid another visit to the 

 hawk's nest. The eggs were all hatched, and 

 the mother bird was hovering near. I shall 

 never forget the curious expression of those 

 young hawks sitting there on the ground. The 

 expression was not one of youth, but of ex- 

 treme age. Such an ancient, infirm look as 

 they had — the sharp, dark, and shrunken look 

 about the face and eyes, and their feeble, tot- 

 tering motions! They sat upon their elbows 

 and the hind part of their bodies, and their 

 pale, withered legs and feet extended before 

 them in the most helpless fashion. Their 

 angular bodies were covered with a pale yel- 

 lowish down, like that of a chicken; their 

 heads had a plucked, seedy appearance; and 



