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Updated: May 17, 2025
On slowly moving pinions, a lone osprey beat its way against a quartering south-east wind to the dead tree where the little birds waited impatiently in the nest, giving vent to curious, whistling sounds. Slowly the osprey flew, for it had played in great luck that day, and had swooped down on a fish that would make a meal for him and his mate and the little ones.
As I sat painting, I would see the gray eagle come down, with his long cycloidal swoop, skimming along the surface of the water, and catch, as he passed, the trout that sunned itself on the surface; or the osprey seizing it with his direct plunge into the lake, from which, after a struggle that lasted sometimes a minute, the only sign of his presence being the agitated water, he would emerge with the fish in his claws and sail aloft, hurrying to escape to the forest with his prey lest the eagle, always watching from the upper air, should rob him of his hard-earned booty.
I just must have it, or I wouldn't bother you at all. I hope you won't hold it against me, Mr. Sparrow. "Mr. Osprey was so nice and polite about it that little Mr. Sparrow perked up a little and started his wits working. He tried to be just as nice and polite as Mr. Osprey. 'I know just how you feel, Mr.
Meanwhile Yaspard and the Harrisons politely offered to row the Osprey to the head of the voe with Mr. Neeven, and he with less than his usual sharp suspicion agreed. He even thanked them as he stepped ashore, and he strode up the hill without once looking back.
Then those wings were closed and with a rush he shot down straight for the water, disappearing with a great splash. Instantly Peter sat up to his full height that he might see better. "It's Plunger the Osprey fishing, and I've nothing to fear from him," he cried happily. Out of the water, his great wings flapping, rose Plunger.
So he was very bright and pleasant with us, showed us the church, gossiped informingly about our neighbours on the countryside Tux, the banker; Lord Boom, the magazine and newspaper proprietor; Lord Carnaby, that great sportsman, and old Lady Osprey.
There is nothing blasé about this handsome young girl. I followed the hand she was pointing. The river above was like some shining road with edges jewelled in green and silvery gems. High up a great osprey was sailing in the blue, while around us the impudent Canada jays were clamoring.
Near where they had placed their tent was the nest of an osprey, in the forks of a large poplar. The tree, as usual, was dead, and the young were plainly visible over the edge of the nest.
Three minutes later, he gave an exclamation as of relief, and a shout rose from the men forward. Following the direction of his eyes, she saw the bowsprit of the Osprey swing to leeward, and a moment later her topmast fall over her side. "What did I tell you?" Carthew said, exultingly. "A race is never lost till it is won." "Oh! I am sorry," Bertha said.
She gained an honest living by painting green leaves on yellow wash-basins in Stephen's renowned earthenware manufactory. She spoke the dialect of the people. She had probably never heard of Christian Science, bridge, Paquin, Panhard, Father Vaughan, the fall of consols, osprey plumes, nor the new theology. Nobody in the house knew her name; even Stephen had forgotten it.
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