26 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



and soared away, and as she passed out of sight they 

 were still cawing on her trail. 



If the hawk had been one of the swift Accipiters, 

 such as the gray goshawk or the Cooper's hawk, 

 or any of the falcons, no crow would have ventured to 

 take any liberties. One of my friends, who collects 

 bird's eggs instead of bird-notes, was once attempt- 

 ing feloniously to break and enter the home of a 

 duck-hawk which was highly regarded in the com- 

 munity—about two hundred feet highly in fact. 

 As my friend was swinging back and forth on a rope 

 in front of the perpendicular cliff, said duck-hawk 

 dashed at him at the rate of some ninety miles per 

 hour. Being scared off by a blank cartridge, the en- 

 raged falcon towered. A passing crow flapping 

 through the air made a peck at the hawk as it shot 

 past. That was one of the last and most unfortunate 

 acts in that crow's whole life. The duck-hawk was 

 fairly aching with the desire to attack someone or 

 something which was not protected by thunder and 

 lightning. With one flash of its wings it shot under 

 that misguided crow, and, turning on its back in 

 mid-air, slashed it with six talons like sharpened steel. 

 The crow dropped, a dead mass of black and blood, 

 to the brow of the cliff below. 



Finally we reached the tall, stone chimney — all 

 that is left of some long-forgotten house, which 

 marks the entrance to old Darby Road, which was 

 opened in 1701. At that point Wild-Folk Land 

 begins. The hurrying feet of more than two centur- 

 ies have sunk the road some ten feet below its banks, 



