He had seen some owls and hawks of the swamp that he thought might be
classed as large birds, but never anything like this, for six feet it
spread its big, shining wings. Its strong feet could be seen drawn
among its feathers. The sun glinted on its sharp, hooked beak. Its eyes
glowed, caught the light, and seemed able to pierce the ground at his
feet. It cared no more for Freckles than if he had not been there; for
it perched on a low tree, while a second later it awkwardly hopped to
the trunk of a lightning-riven elm, turned its back, and began searching
the blue.
Freckles looked just in time to see a second shadow sweep the grass; and
another bird, a trifle smaller and not quite so brilliant in the light,
slowly sailed down to perch beside the first. Evidently they were mates,
for with a queer, rolling hop the first-comer shivered his bronze wings,
sidled to the new arrival, and gave her a silly little peck on her
wing. Then he coquettishly drew away and ogled her. He lifted his head,
waddled from her a few steps, awkwardly ambled back, and gave her such
a simple sort of kiss on her beak that Freckles burst into a laugh, but
clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.
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