The old birds screamed at me no more; then I came on one
of their young in the meadow near the river. His curious
behaviour interested me so much that I stood and watched him
for half an hour or longer. It was a hot, windless day, and
the bird was by himself among the tall flowering grasses and
buttercups of the meadow--a queer gaunt unfinished
hobbledehoy-looking fowl with a head much too big for his
body, a beak that resembled a huge nose, and a very monstrous
mouth. When I first noticed him he was amusing himself by
picking off the small insects from the flowers with his big
beak, a most unsuitable instrument, one would imagine, for so
delicate a task. At the same time he was hungering for more
substantial fare, and every time a rook flew by over him on
its way to or from a neighbouring too populous rookery, the
young crow would open wide his immense red mouth and emit his
harsh, throaty hunger-call. The rook gone, he would drop once
more into his study of the buttercups, to pick from them
whatever unconsidered trifle in the way of provender he could
find. Once a small bird, a pied wagtail, flew near him, and
he begged from it just as he had done from the rooks: the
little creature would have run the risk of being itself
swallowed had it attempted to deliver a packet of flies into
that cavernous mouth. I went nearer, moving cautiously, until
I was within about four yards of him, when, half turning, he
opened his mouth and squawked, actually asking me to feed him;
then, growing suspicious, he hopped awkwardly away in the
grass.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190