the claws of a large Owl, found in the garbage heap back of the
taxidermist's shop.

One day on the ash heap in their own yard in town he saw a new,
strange bird. He was always seeing new birds, but this was of unusual
interest. He drew its picture as it tamely fed near him. A dull, ashy
gray, with bronzy yellow spots on crown and rump, and white bars on
its wings. His "Birds of Canada" gave no light; he searched through
all the books he could find, but found no clew to its name. It was
years afterward before he learned that this was the young male Pine
Grosbeak.

Another day, under the bushes not far from his shanty, he found a
small Hawk lying dead. He clutched it as a wonderful prize, spent an
hour in looking at its toes, its beak, its wings, its every feather;
then he set to work to make a drawing of it. A very bad drawing it
proved, although it was the labour of days, and the bird was crawling
with maggots before he had finished. But every feather and every spot
was faithfully copied, was duly set down on paper. One of his
friends said it was a Chicken-hawk. That name stuck in Yan's memory.
Thenceforth the Chicken-hawk and its every marking were familiar to
him. Even in after years, when he had learned that this must have been
a young "Sharp-shin," the name "Chicken-hawk" was always readier on
his lips.

But he met with another and a different Hawk soon afterward. This one
was alive and flitting about in the branches of a tree over his head.
It was very small--less than a foot in length. Its beak was very
short, its legs, wings and tail long; its head was bluish and its back
coppery red; on the tail was a broad, black crossbar. As the bird flew