WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
From the other side of the hedge came 
mysterious scuffling, squawking, chuckling. 
There were others of the Feather Folk waiting 
above the place tits, chaffinches, and a daw or 
two. He tripped over the leaves and peeped 
into the cabbage-garden of Mrs. Maguire. 
Mrs. Maguire was feeding her "fowl" on stira- 
bout. Shacaim had learned more of human folk 
during the winter than in all the previous 
months in Norway, and knew that they were 
to be avoided ; but the slow swing of Mrs. 
Maguire's petticoats inspired him with less awe 
than did the generality of her kind. She had 
lived in Ballymoney Glen for twenty years, 
with the trees of the wood over her roof, 
and the birds of the air looking in at her door- 
way ; and perhaps those who live thus, acquire 
a certain affinity to the wild which others miss. 
The fowls fought round her feet a bumptious 
robin snapped up a crumb from between her 
cracked boots, and the chaffinches dodged about 
on the outskirts of the crowd. The redwing 
noted how the fowls, crop-filled and drowsy, 
strolled off to the cottage, where they slept in 
the chimney-corner opposite Mrs. Maguire's 
own bed. Then, with the wild Feather Folk, 
he fed upon the remnants of their meal, before 
turning to roost in the hedge beside the house. 
The smell of man lay about the place a smell 
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