There is a special sort of carrying to which many long-winged hawks are prone, and it is still more difficult to cure than the practice commonly so called. A hawk which is much fed on the fist, and little on the ground--especially on damp or uncomfortable ground--will, after taking her quarry and killing it, stand still on the ground, looking round with a restless air. And after a while, thinking, apparently, that the spot where she is is not exactly the most convenient that could be found for a meal, will get up, pelt in hand, and fly off in search of one more desirable. This is done out of no feeling of mistrust or deliberate conviction that her prize is likely to be taken from her. Thus the fact that the hawk is quite tame, and even likes your company at her dinner, is no safeguard against this vexatious habit. I have known a jack-merlin which was frequently easy to take up, bolt with a full-sized lark, and carry it, as if it weighed no more than a feather, for nearly half a mile, searching for a place which was good enough for my lord to picnic on, and disdaining several flat mounds which lay in his way, and which would have formed luxurious tables. The same hawk once carried a lark about six hundred yards in one direction, and then, seeing no specially attractive ground on that side, came back the whole way, and, flying past at about fifty yards distance, settled on a rough, dirty heap two or three hundred yards in a different direction. Had he gone straight on for the same length of time in the original direction, he would either have been lost and left out, or only found by accident after a search of long duration. Sometimes a hawk, too dainty to feed on the ground amongst prickly stubble or tall, wet turnip-leaves, will go off with her quarry into a tree, which is not a particularly comfortable dining-place, but which she chooses to prefer. Mr. St. Quintin had a fine falcon which persisted in this vice, until he actually got rid of her.