After leaving the theatre, Merry had gone at once to a nearby store and purchased a spool of stout linen thread.
Once outside the store, she attached the end of the thread to the silk cord on the falcon’s leg. The next thing she did was to shake the falcon from her wrist.
Flapping lazy wings, he soared aloft. Scarcely had he cleared the low building before him, however, than he shot straight away toward the west.
Astonished at the pull he gave upon her thread, and fearful lest he break it, Merry played out the line grudgingly until she had him stopped and then slowly drew him back. Catching sight of her, he soared back to a place on her wrist.
“So that’s settled!” she exclaimed with considerable animation. “I guessed as much. Now for something else.”
Boarding a street car and ignoring the astonished stares of those who rode with her as they saw the falcon, she took a seat and rattled away toward the west.
When she had ridden thirty blocks she left the car, and stood again on a street corner and released her bird.
The performance of half an hour before was repeated in every detail.
“Still westward he wings his flight,” she murmured as she drew the bird back. “That means the Forest Preserve. The flats around the settlement house are at my back now.
“Can’t go out there alone,” she told herself. “Not safe. They might kidnap me, too.”