“Why, no, of course not, child. It would only see something soft and light that might be good to eat and snatch it up. Well, one warm spring morning when the apple-trees were in bloom Mrs. Shadwell had set her baby boy out to play on the grass in the care of his sister, and had left him but a few moments when a shadow flew by the window; she heard the flapping of great wings, cries and calls of distress, and she rushed to the door just in time to see old Father Whitehead rise into the air with the baby in his claws. There was nothing to do but to scream and scream and to snatch the big dinner-horn and blow blast after blast upon it to summon her husband and the charcoal-burners.
“The neighbors gathered in a few moments and plainly saw the giant bird with the white bundle in his grasp circling toward his nest. It was dreadful to see the agony of the parents and to hear the mother cry, ‘Oh, they’ll tear my Willie to pieces. Oh, save him, save him!’
“But how were they to save him? Many a time had the best marksmen of the settlement tried to shoot the robber pair, but never had succeeded, and it would be a terrible risk now to try and hit the old bird while he carried the child in his grasp. Fortunately an old hunter—‘Dave,’ they called him; I never knew his other name—had lately come to the settlement from the North woods where he had been trapping sable. Luckily, he heard the horn-blast on the hills and knew it meant danger of some kind.
“Reaching the valley, he saw the great bird overhead with his white burden, saw the crowd of neighbors, and judged what had happened.
“He loaded his long rifle, ran toward the bridge where he could get a better view of the eagles’ nest, leveled his piece on the rail and knelt on the planking. The father followed him begging him to be careful, to be careful, or he would kill the child, but old Dave waved his hand for silence, watched the eagle as he soared upward and the mother bird circling and screaming over the nest—and waited!
“I was only a boy, but I shall never forget the fright and the suspense in the eyes of the neighbors while they waited for Dave’s shot. It was a long range and the bullets fired by the best marksmen in the village had always failed to reach it, hitherto.
“Would the old hunter have better success? Could he kill the bird and not the child?
“At length the eagle slowly descended to the nest where his young ones were clamoring for their dinner and, just as he reached the rocky platform on which it was built, Dave fired.
“We held our breaths, but before the smoke from his rifle had disappeared the head of the mighty bird was seen to fall. Dave waved his hand again for silence and leveled his piece a second time, for the mother was slowly circling down to see what was amiss in the nest. The old man was a wonderful marksman, the best I shall ever see, for he fired again just at the very moment when she was stretching out her feet to alight and in a second we saw her tumble down the side of the crag.”
“Oh, that was splendid!” cried Ronald, his eyes sparkling with excitement, “and then the poor mother knew that her baby was safe.”