strikes a wave squarely as it
rises, passes under it, and is out on the other side gripping a big
chub. The little ones follow her, whistling their delight, and
telling her that perhaps now they will go back to the nest and take a
look at the fish before they go on with their fishing. Which means, of
course, that they will eat it and go to sleep perfectly satisfied with
the good fun of fishing; and then lessons are over for the day.

[Illustration: "GRIPPING HIS FISH AND _PIP-PIPPING_ HIS EXULTATION"]

The mother, however, has other thoughts in her wise head. She knows that
the little ones are not yet tired, only hungry; and that there is much
to teach them before the chub stop shoaling and fishhawks must be off to
the coast. She knows also that they have thus far missed the two things
she brought them out to learn: to take a fish always as he comes up; and
to hit a wave always on the front side, under the crest. Gripping her
fish tightly, she bends in her slow flight and paralyzes it by a single
blow in the spine from her hooked beak. Then she drops it back into the
whitecaps, where, jumping to the top of my rock, I can see it
occasionally struggling near the surface.

_Cheeeep!_ "try it now," she whistles.

_Pip, pip!_ "here goes!" cries the little one who failed before; and
down he drops, _souse!_ going clear under in his impatient hunger,
forgetting precept and example and past experience.

Again the waves race over him; but there is a satisfied note in the
mother's whistle which tells me that she sees him, and that he is doing
well. In a moment he is out again with a great rush and sputter,
gripping his fish and _pip-pipping_ his exultation. Away he goes in low
heavy flight to the nest. The mother circles over him a moment to be
sure he is not overloaded; then she goes back with the other neophyte
and ranges back and forth over the shoal's edge.

It is clear now to even my eyes that there is a vast difference in the
characters of young fishhawks. The first was eager, headstrong,
impatient; the second is calmer, stronger, more obedient. He watches the
mother; he heeds her signals. Five minutes later he makes a clean,
beautiful swoop and comes up with his fish. The mother whistles her
praise as she drops beside him. My eyes follow them as, gossiping like
two old cronies, they wing their slow way over the dancing whitecaps and
climb the slanting tree-tops to the nest.

The day's lessons are over now, and I go b