Robin Hood's Barn 



pinions, but occasionally so low that for a second 

 I am darkened by their shadow and make out the 

 booty clutched in their crooked claws. Already 

 there is a clamor from the outlook on the nest 

 and an answering querulous cry. They are a 

 fretful family. There is no afPection in that wail 

 that has just shrilled above my head. There is 

 neither respect nor gratitude in the outcry that 

 has brought it forth. And as the hawk in spiral 

 flight, settles over her imruly brood, I can imag- 

 ine the squabble that ensues over the partition 

 of the meager meal. 



Better I like the kingfisher with his neat front 

 and jaunty crest, who is waiting on the rock for 

 his last dive. He takes his time about it and 

 gives no warning. His performance is for his 

 own interest, not for mine. But of a sudden there 

 is an vmswerving plunge, a scattering of silver, 

 and he too is speeding towards me up the thor- 

 oughfare. His flight is low and on a level with 

 my porch. At first he does not see me. But as 

 I move, he gives a rattle of defiance, a ruffling of 

 his crest at my impertinence, and veers off across 

 the fields. 



[86] 



