He had
seen it in flying by, and now stood hopping back and forth along
the window sash, uncertain whether to come in or not. Sometimes he
spread his wings as if on the point of flying in; then he would turn
his head to look curiously at me and at the strange surroundings, and,
afraid to venture in, endeavor to attract the attention of the stuffed
bird, whose head was turned away. In the looking-glass he saw his own
movements repeated. Twice he began his love call very softly, but cut
it short, as if frightened. The echo of the small room made it seem so
different from the same call in the open fields that I think he
doubted even his own voice.
[Illustration]
Almost over his head, on a bracket against the wall, was another bird,
a great hawk, pitched forward on his perch, with wings wide spread and
fierce eyes glaring downward, in the intense attitude a hawk takes as
he strikes his prey from some lofty watch tree. The golden-wing by
this time was ready to venture in. He had leaned forward with wings
spread, looking down at me to be quite sure I was harmless, when,
turning his head for a final look round, he caught sight of the hawk
just ready to pounce down on him. With a startled _kee-uk_ he fairly
tumbled back off the window sash, and I caught one glimpse of him as
he dashed round the corner in full flight.
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