The next season I took a female sparrow hawk from the nest, when nearly grown, but she was never quite as familiar as Sweepstakes, and in a few days ran or rather flew away. If she had gone north toward the meadows, she would probably have found her parents, at that time engaged in teaching her brothers and sisters the rudiments of hunting, and would probably never have returned. Instead of this she took the opposite direction, and in a few days came back with a tremendous appetite, hungrily eating everything that was given her. When haying time came on she would follow about the field, lighting on rake handles or shoulders, or even the cart, when she was not feeding on grasshoppers till she could hardly fly. Toward the end of summer she would be gone for days on hunting excursions, her ability in this direction having increased, but on her return would be as familiar as ever.
One day, however, she appeared nervous and frightened, and on taking her in my hand I noticed that shot had cut through her wing feathers, and those on her breast were rumpled and bloody. Suddenly she caught sight of some one in the road more than a hundred yards away, and was instantly in the air, soaring out over the fields and up toward the clouds until almost out of sight. She seldom came about the house after that, and though when I saw her in the meadows was apparently not afraid, she yet refused to come at my call. Early the next spring a female sparrow hawk lighted on the roof of the barn, and at one time seemed to show signs of coming down to me, but evidently thought better of it, and flew off toward the north. Perhaps it was only a wild hawk; still, I prefer to think that she is still alive, and has escaped those who shoot hawks only to obtain the bounty offered for their scalps by the State.
