WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
admiring hens. Morning by 
morning, from dawn to sun- 
up, each trumpeted aloud his 
unalterable resolve to uphold 
the honour of his own yard 
against all comers. 
Creaban paid little attention 
to the far-off challenge from 
Dromore, but the nearer jubi- 
lation from the bottom of the 
wood stung him to emulation. 
With a sudden thrum and 
clapper of wings, which made 
the woods ring, he gave the 
terse defiance of an arrogant 
cock-pheasant, There was a 
sudden silence in the yard, and 
when the Tonsella cock crowed 
again, the challenge was in- 
tended, not for his Dromore rival, but for one 
nearer home. It was not only a challenge but 
a summons. As the daylight broadened the 
small birds woke, and the pigeons flapped 
lazily out to breakfast in the barley fields, but 
Creaban did not think of food, as he kept 
steadily on his way towards the farm. He 
had never been angry before. Hitherto he 
had sometimes been afraid of strange birds and 
beasts, but he had never wanted to fight them. 
