THE REDWING 
into the full colour of day. Belated rabbits, 
ghost-like, paddled across the road ; the scaul- 
crows down the wood cried aloud for joy of the 
thaw, and the rookery answered in clamorous 
jubilee. The birds of the thicket went out to 
feed, but even the bustle of their departing did 
not rouse the redwing ; and he was still there 
half an hour later when the magpie dropped 
with a flourish, and promenaded across the 
road, eyeing him sidelong. Sharp eyes has the 
magpie sharp as his beak and the glint of 
them woke the redwing out of his bemusement 
with a thrill, full of solicitude for his own. 
Things rocked back to their proper proportions 
in his mind, as the magpie shuffled his dagger- 
bill nearer Shacaim fluttered from his tussock 
with trailing wing, and sprang up the hedge- 
bank but to his surprise he somersaulted lop- 
sidedly into the ditch. The magpie departed 
with a frightened squawk, but Shacaim on the 
mud gasped with a larger terror. He had 
forgotten how to fly. Wild-eyed, he tried 
again. The utmost he could attain to was 
a shuffling hop, with his wings outstretched 
as balancers. His wing was clipped as neatly 
as if human hands had done it, for the tele- 
graph wire, shearing through the carpal joint, 
had carried away the strong flying quills he 
would never fly again. 
'47 
