Their social, inquiring, short cry was to locate a mate, and call her to good feeding.

The sharp wild scream of a note was when a hawk passed over, a weasel lurked in the thicket, or a black snake sunned on the bushes.

She remembered these things, and lay listening intently, trying to interpret every sound as the Harvester did.
Birds of wide wing hung as if nailed to the sky, or wheeled and sailed in grandeur.

They were searching the landscape below to locate a hare or snake in the waving grass or carrion in the fields.

The wonderful exhibitions of wing power were their expression of exultation in life, just as the song sparrow threatened to rupture his throat as he swung on the hedge, and the red bird somewhere in the thicket whistled so forcefully it sounded as if the notes might hurt him.
On the lake bass splashed in a game with each other.