CHAPTER IV 



In, the Depths of a Fir Forest 



I USED to think that a fir forest was the most unproductive kind of place 

 in which to hunt for birds' nests ; for it always seemed that the only- 

 creatures which chose such gloomy surroundings for their homes were 

 wood-pigeons and jays — and innumerable red squirrels. 



I was always hoping that one day I might come across the nest of a Goshawk 

 or Buzzard ; and well remember my joy at hearing the mewing of some sparrow- 

 hawks, which I firmly believed to be buzzards — because I had read that buz- 

 zards are in the habit of making a mewing noise. 



But although I never found the nest of either Goshawk or Buzzard, I 

 did — one memorable afternoon — cUmb up to a nest that looked somewhat 

 different to the scores of squirrel's ' dreys ' that I had often hoped might be 

 the nests of some large bird, to find to my unbounded joy that it contained 

 four Sparrow-hawk's eggs — the first I had ever found. 



At this time I was already bitten with the mania for taking — or attempting 

 to take — photographs of birds, rather than for the collecting of eggs ; and I reall}' 

 put myself to enormous trouble in fixing a dummy camera in an adjacent tree, 

 so that the sparrow-hawks might become accustomed to the unusual object. 



So many times did I go to inspect this dummy camera, and so many 

 branches did I smash off on my journeys up and down the tree, that eventually 

 the place bore the appearance of a piece of common land after a recent gipsy 

 encampment — and the tree looked like a well-worn brown bear's pole. 



Of course the inevitable happened. The attention of the gamekeeper of 

 the place was drawn to the tree by its unnatural appearance and surroundings, 

 and the nest was discovered by the birds' very worst enemy. 



The female Sparrow-hawk was only allowed to live a few short days longer, 

 before being shot as she returned to the nest to attend to a family of newly- 

 hatched young ; and then joined a row of decaying stoats, hedgehogs, weasels 

 and owls on the keeper's scrag-pole. 



And such is the inglorious end of a pitiable number of the most courageous 

 of our hawks. 



However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody good ; and the empty sparrow- 



45 



