WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
banked the lips of the spouts. lolar grew 
fierce with hunger. Each straggling party of 
pigeons who ventured near the place dashed 
away with the whistle of his wings behind them. 
But, towards evening, the sky cleared with 
promise of frost. A band of plover flapped 
southwards, and the peregrine's eyes followed 
them hungrily ; but they passed high above 
his head, and he huddled down again doggedly 
to watch. In an hour the light would be 
gone, and he would have to spend a third 
night fasting. Suddenly, against the pink sky 
to the north, he saw a rapidly moving speck. 
It was a strange pigeon. It was beneath him 
before it saw its danger, and, as it swerved 
aside, the red sunset light awakened an 
answering reflection on its neck. So much 
lolar saw, and then he swooped and struck. 
They parachuted down. The pigeon was a 
strong bird, and nerved by terror strained ahead 
to reach the cote by the river. For a brief 
space they struggled in mid-air, then, under 
its captor's grip, the pigeon ceased to flutter, 
and lolar bore it down to the transept roof. 
He feasted at his leisure, and when the stars 
came out there was little left but the quill 
feathers and the larger bones. But one red 
foot which slid down the gable and lay on the 
snow in the gutter wore a metal anklet with 
54 
