58 IN BLACK AND ORANGE. 
topping the trees that flanked the next field, 
and not thinking for one single instant of 
taking a bird from the garden. Although 
so far away, the hawk simply could not help 
seeing it, and to see was to be tempted. 
Still going like the wind, he turned beyond 
the trees. He hurtled down on the far side. 
He canted at forty miles per hour, and shoot- 
ing like a blue-gray meteor through a gap, 
came down on the cock-blackbird like a 
whirlwind. 
Mind, the cock-blackbird had no warning, 
no time—nothing. But he had his tail. Re- 
member that the next time you see ‘ Blackie’ 
on the lawn. He has his tail, and it isn’t 
there just to fan. 
The hawk did not have everything his own 
way. 
The cock-blackbird suddenly appeared, 
phoenix-like, from what seemed to be the 
very grip of the deadly hawk claws, and 
skated for the holly-hedge pretty quick. 
Before you could draw breath they were at 
the holly, going like feathered furies. Another 
hunted bird would have had to cant upwards, 
and throw back to check flight before entering 
in, or dash itself to pieces. The sparrow-hawk 
checked, and waited for the blackbird to do 
so. But friend Blackie was up to that. He 
