cried out:

"Look, look, there's a hawk after them!"

And, indeed, so it was. The lapwing ran with wondrous speed, and
before Selta had time to snap at it a hawk had nipped in before the
dog's nose in the attempt to rob her of her prey. Unfortunately for
the larger bird, however, the dog's snap, intended for the
fugitive, came upon the hawk's outstretched neck. The lapwing
escaped unhurt, and flew screaming into the air, but Selta held to
the hawk till we ran up and helped her. I managed to secure the
bird's wings, which flapped about with surprising strength, while
Tom held its struggling legs.

"Thraw its neck, thraw its neck!" cried Rosson, now coming up to
us.

Selta loosened her hold, and Willie Hercus took the hawk's head in
his hand, carefully guarding against its sharp beak, gave its neck
a rapid twist, and the bird was dead.

"What kind of a bird is it?" eagerly asked Kinlay, whose knowledge
of our native birds was as imperfect as his knowledge of Latin
conjugations.

"Can you not see it's a harrier--a hen harrier?" I said, as I
stretched out the large and beautiful wings of gray-blue feathers
and proceeded to bind the bird's feet with a string.

"The very same that Thora spoke of, I'll be bound!" Tom exclaimed