given radius. Many of the singers hid, but a Meadow Lark that had been
whistling on a stake in the open was now vainly seeking shelter in the
broad field. The Hawk was speeding his way. The Lark dodged and put on
all power to reach the orchard, but the Hawk was after him now--was
gaining--in another moment would, have clutched the terrified
musician, but out of the Apple trees there dashed a small
black-and-white bird--the Kingbird. With a loud harsh twitter--his
war-cry--repeated again and again, with his little gray head-feathers
raised to show the blood-and-flame-coloured undercrest--his war
colours--he darted straight at the great robber.

"Clicker-a-clicker," he fairly screamed, and made for the huge Hawk,
ten times his size.

"Clicker-a-clicker!" he shrieked, like a cateran shouting the
"slogan," and down like a black-and-white dart--to strike the Hawk
fairly between the shoulders just as the Meadow Lark dropped in
despair to the bare ground and hid its head from the approaching
stroke of death.

"Clicker-a-clicker"--and the Hawk wheeled in sudden consternation.
"Clicker-a-clicker"--and the dauntless little warrior dropped between
his wings, stabbing and tearing.

The Hawk bucked like a mustang, the Kingbird was thrown, but sprung on
agile pinions above again.

"Clicker-a-clicker," and he struck as before. Large brown feathers
were floating away on the breeze now. The Meadow Lark was forgotten.
The Hawk thought only of escape.

"Clicker-a-clicker," the slogan still was heard. The Hawk was putting
on all speed to get away, but the Kingbird was riding him most of the
time. Several brown feathers floated down, the Hawk dwindled in the
distance to a Sparrow and the Kingbird to a fly dancing on his back.
The Hawk made a final plunge into a thicket, and the king came home
again, uttering the shrill war-cry once or twice, probably to let the
queen know that he was coming back, for she flew to a high branch of
the Apple tree where she could greet the returning hero. He came with
an occasional "clicker-a-clicker"--then, when near her, he sprung
fifty feet in the air and dashed down, screaming his slogan without
interruption, darting zigzag with the most surprising evolutions and
turns--this way, that way, sideways and downward, dealing the
deadliest blows right and left at an imaginary foe, then soared, and
did it all over again two or three times, just to show how far he was
from being tired, and how much better