“Well, I am surprised,” said the Vixen, “I thought you were a hawk.”
“So did the hedge-sparrows and the green-finches, and the yellow-hammer,” laughed the Cuckoo. “It was very amusing, particularly as they could not get near me. But I would not like them to catch me in the open.”
“Then why do you try to appear like a hawk when you’re a cuckoo,” said the Vixen. “Trouble enough comes to all of us without asking for it. At least I think so.”
“I’m not so foolish as you think,” explained the bird, whose plumage, now it could be seen closely, was very drab and undistinguished, just a dirty grey with brown markings, and nothing of the gloss that belongs to the feathers of the hawk tribe. “You see, I’m quite a defenceless bird. My bill is not made to deal with anything harder than insects. I’m not built for fighting. Now I’m a fair size, and every hawk can see me when I fly abroad. If they knew me for a cuckoo, I’d not do much good for myself, the first that saw me would have a free meal. So I imitate their flight and all their actions, and they take me for one of themselves. In this way I am safe to go from place to place; but there is the drawback that all the little hawk-haters of the woods and hedges are deceived too, and they mob me as you have seen. However, we can’t expect to have unmixed good luck, and deception involves trouble. Upon my word, I’m almost as wise as the brown owl himself.”
“How do you manage the imitation so well?” asked the Vixen. “I’m not readily deceived, but I thought you were a hawk.”
“Just practice,” he replied. “When I’m feeding I can twist and turn up and down any way you like, and when I’m trying to hide I can slip in and out among branches in a way your eye could not follow. But when I go into the open where there may be hawks about, I take a straight flight, keep my tail spread out, utter no sound at all and go across the fields as though I were on the look-out for little birds.”
“And what are you doing in this part?” asked the Vixen suspiciously. She was not pleased to see strangers in the wood.
“I’ve been about since early April,” replied the Cuckoo. “I’ve taken up my summer quarters here, and I don’t mind telling you that there is no room for any other male cuckoo in this wood. I had to make an exception to my general rule of peaceful living and fight one of my own tribe for possession of this pitch. I won, and he has gone across the river.”
“What about your mate?” she asked him, and the Cuckoo smiled again, rather wickedly.
“I don’t mind allowing any really charming lady cuckoo to call for a few days, but she can’t stay,” he replied. “My instincts are those of a bachelor.”