“Perfect,” cried Di, riding forward and blowing a small whistle. At the sound the hawk rose and flew back to her, lighting calmly, though its eyes were flashing, on Di’s extended wrist.
“Get the game, Thornie,” the girl called to one of her cousins, who had also set his hawk at the covey. “See, your bird is stooping to ... ah!”
The second hawk had missed striking, and was once more wheeling up into the air. In the meanwhile the rest of the grouse dropped to earth and disappeared in the undergrowth.
Thornie jumped off his horse and picked up the dead grouse, a fine big fellow.
“’Tis a braw beastie, that of yours, Cousin,” he remarked, as he stuffed the game into a bag. “’Twas my father trained her, as you ken....”
“Your own is not so bad, Thornie, if ever you could get started in time. But you wait till the game is up before you cast, and then have nothing for your pains.”
The boy turned sulkily away.
“I guess he doesn’t like to be teased,” Ruth remarked, looking after him. She thought Di a trifle severe.
Di laughed. “Who could help teasing the stupid lad?” she answered. “It’s good for him, too. ’Twill teach him a little humility, for it’s his private opinion that there’s no better hawker in the country than he. But isn’t she a beauty?”
“She’s wonderful,” exclaimed Rose. “How do you ever teach them? Wild as a hawk is what I’ve always heard, but I never knew anything so tame and well-trained. Why, this is lots more fun than chasing jackrabbits.”