THE MARSH HAWK 117 



beat his wings. He seemed now to be thinking 

 entirely of his wings. They itched to be put to 

 use. 



A day or two later he would leap and fly sev- 

 eral feet. A pile of brush ten or twelve feet be- 

 low the bank was easily reached. Here he would 

 perch in true hawk fashion, to the bewilderment 

 and scandal of all the robins and catbirds in the 

 vicinity. Here he would dart his eye in all direc- 

 tions, turning his head over and glancing up into 

 the sky. 



He was now a lovely creature, fully fledged, 

 and as tame as a kitten. But he was not a bit like a 

 kitten in one respect, — he could not bear to have 

 you stroke or even touch his plumage. He had a 

 horror of your hand, as if it would hopelessly defile 

 him. But he would perch upon it, and allow you 

 to carry him about. If a dog or cat appeared, he 

 was ready to give battle instantly. He rushed 

 up to a little dog one day, and struck him with 

 his foot savagely. He was afraid of strangers, 

 and of any unusual object. 



The last week in July he began to fly quite 

 freely, and it was necessary to clip one of his 

 wings. As the clipping embraced only the ends 

 of his primaries, he soon overcame the difficulty, 

 and, by carrying his broad, long tail more on that 

 side, flew with considerable ease. He made longer 



