sight, the male immediately set off after him, and it was ridiculous
to see that great, strong bird hurrying away as fast as his clumsy
wings would carry him, as soon as he saw the little, waspish kingbird
coming. But the kingbird easily overtook him, flew just a few feet
above him, and with a lot of chattering, scolding notes kept diving
and striking him on the back of the head until tired; then he alighted
to rest on the hawk's broad shoulders, still scolding and chattering
as he rode along, like an angry boy pouring out vials of wrath. Then,
up and at him again with his sharp bill; and after he had thus driven
and ridden his big enemy a mile or so from the nest, he went home to
his mate, chuckling and bragging as if trying to tell her what a
wonderful fellow he was.

This first spring, while some of the birds were still building their
nests and very few young ones had yet tried to fly, father hired a
Yankee to assist in clearing eight or ten acres of the best ground for
a field. We found new wonders every day and often had to call on this
Yankee to solve puzzling questions. We asked him one day if there was
any bird in America that the kingbird couldn't whip. What about the
sandhill crane? Could he whip that long-legged, long-billed fellow?

"A crane never goes near kingbirds' nests or notices so small a bird,"
he said, "and therefore there could be no fighting between them." So
we hastily concluded that our hero could whip every bird in the
country except perhaps the sandhill crane.

We never tired listening to the wonderful whip-poor-will. One came
every night about dusk and sat on a log about twenty or thirty feet
from our cabin door and began shouting "Whip poor Will! Whip poor
Will!" with loud emphatic earnestness. "What's that? What's that?" we