The King's gerfalcon having struck down a
rook, and finding the sport but tame, bethought herself suddenly
of that noble heron, which she still perceived fluttering over
Crooksbury Heath. How could she have been so weak as to allow
these silly, chattering rooks to entice her away from that lordly
bird? Even now it was not too late to atone for her mistake. In
a great spiral she shot upward until she was over the heron. But
what was this? Every fiber of her, from her crest to her deck
feathers, quivered with jealousy and rage at the sight of this
creature, a mere peregrine, who had dared to come between a royal
gerfalcon and her quarry. With one sweep of her great wings she
shot up until she was above her rival. The next instant--
"They crab! They crab!" cried the King, with a roar of laughter,
following them with his eyes as they bustled down through the air.
"Mend thy own altar-cloths, Bishop. Not a groat shall you have
from me this journey. Pull them apart, falconer, lest they do
each other an injury. And now, masters, let us on, for the sun
sinks toward the west."
The two hawks, which had come to the ground interlocked with
clutching talons and ruffled plumes, were torn apart and brought
back bleeding and panting to their perches, while the heron after
its perilous adventure flapped its way heavily onward to settle
safely in the heronry of Waverley.
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