ROUND THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 



THE LOST FALCON 



IT was three o'clock on a winter afternoon. The air 

 was filled with frost-sounds of twigs snapping, and ice 

 tinkling as it formed and fell. On the lawn lay the 

 limbs of an ancient cedar, snapped by the weight of 

 snow. Hard by, on her block of pinewood, sat a 

 trained falcon, her plumage compact and glossy. 

 Though indifferent to the cold, she moved impatiently 

 from time to time, jangling the tiny Indian bell upon 

 her ankle. Feeding-time was near, and her appetite 

 was sharpened by the frosty air. As we watched the 

 bird a great white owl flapped, moth-like, across the 

 open perhaps disturbed before her time, or dis- 

 appointed in her catch of mice the previous night. 

 The hawk caught sight of her also, and instantly 

 changed her attitude. In general, though keenly 

 observant of every living thing that passed her station, 

 she knew the limit of her range. But instinct is 

 stronger than training. As the owl passed, uncertain, 



