82 WAKE—ROBIN 
him up, but never quite does it,— and so, between 
disappointment and expectation, is soon disgusted, 
and returns to pursue his more legitimate means of 
subsistence. 
In striking contrast to this serio-comic strife of 
the sparrow and the moth, is the pigeon hawk’s 
pursuit of the sparrow or the goldfinch. It is a 
race of surprising speed and agility. It is a test of 
wing and wind. Every muscle is taxed, and every 
nerve strained. Such cries of terror and consterna- 
tion on the part of the bird, tacking to the right 
and left, and making the most desperate efforts to 
escape, and such silent determination on the part of 
the hawk, pressing the bird so closely, flashing and 
turning, and timing his movements with those of 
the pursued as accurately and as inexorably as if 
the two constituted one body, excite feelings of the 
deepest concern. You mount the fence or rush out 
of your way to see the issue. The only salvation 
for the bird is to adopt the tactics of the moth, 
seeking instantly the cover of some tree, bush, or 
hedge, where its smaller size enables it to move 
about more rapidly. These pirates are aware of 
this, and therefore prefer to take their prey by one 
fell swoop. You may see one of them prowling 
through an orchard, with the yellowbirds hovering 
about him, crying, Pi-ty, pi-ty, in the most de- 
sponding tone; yet he seems not to regard them, 
knowing, as do they, that in the close branches they 
are as safe as if in a wall of adamant. 
August is the month of the high-sailing hawks. 
