236 IN HIGH SUFFOLK 



A pair of sparrow-hawks were anxious to make their 

 supper on the tits, and their silent gliding forms crossed 

 and recrossed among the stems from minute to minute, 

 winding among the closely growing ash-poles with 

 astonishing powers of steering in full flight. So quick 

 were their movements, and so close to the stems, that 

 though the bold birds took no alarm at the motionless 

 human figure, it was almost impossible to fire a shot 

 at these worst poachers of the woods, with any certainty 

 of killing. They had carried off more than one of the 

 tits when a third hawk swept over the wood, seized 

 a small bird in its claws, and sailed off up the ride. A 

 shot and a red shower of sparks was followed by the 

 fall of the hawk, and the clatter of a hundred pairs of 

 wings as the pigeons left the trees. The hawk was 

 dead, with the finch still in its claws, apparently unhurt. 

 In a few minutes the wood is quiet again, and the 

 pigeons return, and during the last few minutes before 

 dark pay heavy toll to the gun, as they fly low and 

 sleepy and bewildered over the pine-tops. There is 

 hardly a better bird for the table outside the true game 

 birds, than these plump Christmas wood-pigeons after 

 months of plenty and open weather. Even when the 

 lingering twilight has almost gone, and the bright 

 planets shine with eager eyes through the lacing oak- 

 boughs, while " echo bids good-night from every 

 glade," the wood is not yet silent. The grey crows 

 have come from the north to tell us that it is Christmas. 

 They have crossed the North Sea, and skirted the shore 

 southward from estuary to estuary, past the mouths of 



