16 WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



follows, and beats the bush, first on one side, then 

 the other ; but the trembling lark cannot be frightened 

 from its stronghold, and the bird, finding itself 

 baffled, skims along as before. 



Round and round the wood it flaps, now sweeping 

 low over the trees, anon hanging motionless. A 

 number of chaffinches are picking among the grass 

 unconscious of the presence of an enemy. Suddenly 

 the hawk darts round the corner of the wood into the 

 midst of the terrified flock, clutches one in its talons, 

 and is off straight and swift across country, stain- 

 ing with a deeper scarlet the ruffled plumage of its 

 captive. 



In imagination I follow this bold spirit of the air 

 to some such plantation as it has just left, and there, 

 on the topmost branches of a pine, somewhere near 

 the centre of the wood, I find its nest. It is bulky, 

 having been repaired annually for years, and is 

 somewhat neatly constructed of fir branches. It is 

 nearly flat, and on its edge is the chaffinch, torn 

 limb from limb and cleanly plucked. Those four 

 screaming demons clothed in down are young sparrow- 

 hawks, and never-satisfied things they are. I 

 descend the tree, just keeping in mind a rotten 

 bough, and leave the young ones to enjoy their 

 feast. Yonder on an ash stump sits the female, 

 quietly watching my movements, to return when I 

 am gone. 



