Part 5 (1/2)

”Well,” said Mrs Flutethroat, ”I'm very glad he's a prisoner, for the nasty, great, cruel-looking thing must be ten times worse than Hookbeak, the hawk, and if it were let loose here we should all be killed.

Pink-tc.h.i.n.k-c.h.i.n.k,” she cried in alarm; for just then the man, who was a falconer, took his bird's hood off, and shouted at the heron by the pond. The great flap-winged bird immediately took flight, and then, with a dash of its wings, away went the falcon, leaving Mrs Flutethroat s.h.i.+vering with fear.

Flip-flap, flap-flip-flop went the heron's wings over the water; flip and skim went the falcon's, and then away and away over the woods and fields went the two birds, circling round and round, and higher and higher; the falcon trying to get above the heron, so as to dart down upon him and break his wings; and the heron, knowing that as long as he kept up the falcon could not touch him, trying his best to keep the higher. At last the swift-winged bird darted upwards, and hovering for a moment over the poor heron, who cried out with fear, darted down with a rush, and went so close that he rustled through the quill feathers of the heron; and so swift was the dart he made, that he went down--down far enough before he could stop himself, and then when he looked up again, he saw that the heron had risen so high that there was no chance of catching him again; so off he flew, and perched in the cedar-tree at Greenlawn, where he sat cleaning and pruning his feathers, and sharpening his ugly hooked beak till it had such a point that it would have been a sad day for the poor bird who came in his clutches; while his master, who had lost sight of him, was wandering away far enough off, whistling to him to come back to his perch.

CHAPTER TEN.

FLAYEM, THE FALCON.

However, he was not left there long in peace, for the birds of Greenlawn did not like such visitors; and the first notice they had of the stranger was from Specklems, the starling, who flew up into the tree, and then out again as though a wasp had stuck in his ear.

”Chur-chair-chark,” he shouted, flying round and round, spitting and sputtering, and making his head look like a hedgehog.

”Chur-chair-r-r-r,” he cried, and very soon the whole of the birds in the neighbourhood were out to see what it all meant.

”Now then, what's the matter?” said the magpie, coming up all in a hurry. ”Whose eggs are broken now? Anybody's little one tumbled out of the nest into Mrs Puss's mouth, for me to get the blame?”

”Look--look in the cedar,” shouted the birds; and up in the cedar went the magpie with his long tail quivering with excitement, and down he came again with his tail trembling with fright.

”Why didn't you say who it was in the tree?” said the magpie. ”Oh! my stars and garters, how out of breath I am. Going about in such a hurry always puts me in a tremble. Oh no! I'm not afraid, not the least bit in the world, it's being out of breath.”

”Well, go up and drive the old hook-nosed thing away,” said the blackbird; ”he's no business here, and we _are_ all afraid; ain't we birds?”

”Yes! yes! scared to death,” chorused all the birds.

”Come, up you go,” said the blackbird; ”there's a good fellow.”

But the magpie stood on one leg and put a long black claw by the side of his beak in a very knowing manner, and then he said, with his head all on one side, ”How do I know that he won't bite?”

”Why, we thought you said that you were not afraid,” said the birds.

”Not the least in the world, gentlemen,” said Mag; ”but my wife's calling me, and I must go, or really I should only be too happy to oblige you. Another time you may depend upon me. Good-bye, gentlemen, _good-bye_.”

And before the birds had time to speak again, the cowardly magpie gave three or four hops across the lawn, and then spread out his wings, and went off in a hurry--telling a story into the bargain, for his wife might have called for a week, and he could not have heard so far-off.

But Maggy was dreadfully afraid, and, like many people in the world, he was ashamed to show it, and so made a very lame-legged excuse, and ran away.

”Ha-ha-ha,” said the birds, ”why, that's worse than being afraid and showing it. Why, he's ever so much bigger than we are, and has claws sharp enough for anything. Why, he pinched one of old mother Muddle-dab's ducklings to death with his great black nails.”

”Well, what's to be done now?” said Specklems, ”I'm not going to have him in my tree, and I won't either. I've a good mind to run at him with my sharp bill and stick it into him; and I would, too, if I was sure he wouldn't hurt me. Wouf!” said the starling, fiercely, and making a poke at nothing; ”wouf! couldn't I give it him!” And then he stuck his little pointed feathers up again, and stood on the tips of his toes with a look as fierce as a half-picked chicken.

”Of course, gentlemen, it isn't for such a quiet mournful body as me to say anything,” said the dove, ”but I can't help thinking that the tree is as much mine as Mr Specklems'; but we won't quarrel about that, for just now it belongs to somebody else, and I feel very uncomfortable about my young ones. Suppose Mr Specklems goes and gives the great staring, goggle-eyed thing a poke; I'm sure I wish he would.”

”I should just like to pickaxe him with my mortar-chipper,” said an old c.o.c.k-sparrow. ”I'd teach him to come into other people's trees without being asked.”

”Let's ask him civilly to go,” said the wren.

”Let's shout at him, and frighten him,” said the owl.

”Say 'Ta-ta' to him, and then he'll go,” said the jackdaw.