The Heart of the Wild by S.L. Bensusan

The month was May, the place was the Heron Wood, which was ablaze with wild hyacinths and pansies, and full of singing-birds. If you have ever been through the wood you must know the little open space in the middle with the pond to which a stray wild duck comes now and again in cold weather. From one corner of the pond you can see right down the slope to the wood's end, along a path now overgrown with ferns and weeds, but, in the old preserving days, a ride cut to enable the squire to shoot his pheasants. There a Vixen had her earth. She could see over the approach to the wood and yet remain unseen, so she was well content.

A bird that seemed at first sight to be a sparrow-hawk came into the wood above the ride, hard-pressed by a flock of sparrows and finches that were pursuing it with loud, angry cries. Once among the trees, the hunted one was lost to its pursuers, who gave up the chase and returned twittering to the open. The Vixen sat quite still. Suddenly she heard the flutter of leaves, as strong wings passed between them, and in another minute the bird that might have been taken for a sparrow-hawk lighted on the branch of the black-thorn above her, lowered his head, drooped his wings, spread his tail out to the fullest extent and called, "Cuc-koo," he cried, "Cuc-koo, cuc-cuk-koo".