log, and even as he did so there was the sharp swish of great wings.
Terror the Goshawk had missed catching Peter by the fraction of a
second.

With his heart thumping as if it were trying to pound its way through
his ribs, Peter peeped out of that hollow log. Terror had alighted on
a tall stump only a few feet away. To Peter in his fright he seemed the
biggest bird he ever had seen. Of course he wasn't. Actually he was very
near the same size as Redtail the Hawk, whom Peter knew well. He was
handsome. There was no denying the fact that he was handsome.

His back was bluish. His head seemed almost black. Over and behind each
eye was a white line. Underneath he was beautifully marked with wavy
bars of gray and white. On his tail were four dark bands. Yes, he was
handsome. But Peter had no thought for his beauty. He could see nothing
but the fierceness of the eyes that were fixed on the entrance to that
hollow log. Peter shivered as if with a cold chill. He knew that in
Terror was no pity or gentleness.

"I hope," thought Peter, "that Mr. and Mrs. Grouse are nowhere about."
You see he knew that there is no one that Terror would rather catch than
a member of the Grouse family.

Terror did not sit on that stump long. He knew that Peter was not likely
to come out in a hurry. Presently he flew away, and Peter suspected from
the direction in which he was headed that Terror was going over to visit
Farmer Brown's henyard. Of all the members of the Hawk family there is
none more bold than Terror the Goshawk. He would not hesitate to seize
a hen from almost beneath Farmer Brown's nose. He is well named, for the
mere suspicion that he is anywhere about strikes terror to the heart of
all the furred and feathered folks. He is so swift of wing that few can
escape him, and he has no pity, but kills for the mere love of killing.
In this respect he is like Shadow the Weasel. To kill for food is
forgiven by the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows,
but to kill needlessly is unpardonable. This is why Terror the Goshawk
is universally hated and has not a single friend.

All that day Peter remained hidden in that hollow log. He did not dare
put foot outside until the Black Shadows began to creep through the
Green Forest. Then he knew that there was nothing more to fear from
Terror the Goshawk, for he hunts only by day. Once more Peter's thoughts
were chiefly of his stomach, for it was very, very empty.

But it was n