THE BIG BLOW. 241 
served well of the flock, whom he had led out 
at dawn, a company of starving scarecrows, 
with death already flying at their shoulders. 
He would take them back now at dusk, a 
squadron of full-fed, full-blooded, lusty birds, 
full of energy, fight, and go. And to-morrow 
the weather would change; he could feel it 
in his body. The sou’-wester would blow, 
there would be rain, and famine would be 
gone—gone for another year, and 
It was a shrewd, cruel blow, delivered with- 
out warning, and from the back. The old 
rook half-turned, quick as quick, even as he 
pitched forward, fanning out his tail, and 
throwing up his wings, shield fashion. He 
had a vision of a thick, black head, a gray- 
and-black body, wings that hung over him, 
and a beak like a gouge aimed at his eye. 
Then he ducked—fought. 
There was no need to ask the style and title 
of the attacker ; only the gray or hoodie crow, 
the corsair Viking invader from northern 
Europe, carried such a grim and dreaded 
mantle; and woe betide any that fell into his 
power! That pied form, that harsh, mocking 
croak, was the terror of the winter shore, and 
searce a bird that flew did not hate or fear 
him. 
Out of the corner of his eye the old presi- 
