IN THE HEMLOCKS 51 



built, but with such loving care and such beautiful 

 adaptation of the means to the end, that it looks 

 like a product of nature. The same wise economy 

 is noticeable in the nests of all birds. No bird 

 could paint its house white or red, or add aught for 

 show. 



At one point in the grayest, most shaggy part of 

 the woods, I come suddenly upon a brood of screech 

 owls, full grown, sitting together upon a dry, moss- 

 draped limb, but a few feet from the ground. I 

 pause within four or five yards of them and am look- 

 ing about me, when my eye alights upon these gray, 

 motionless figures. They sit perfectly upright, some 

 with their backs and some with their breasts toward 

 me, but every head turned squarely in my direction. 

 Their eyes are closed to a mere black line; through 

 this crack they are watching me, evidently thinking 

 themselves unobserved. The spectacle is weird and 

 grotesque, and suggests something impish and un- 

 canny. It is a new effect, the night side of the 

 woods by daylight. After observing them a mo- 

 ment I take a single step toward them, when, quick 

 as thought, their eyes fly wide open, their attitude 

 is changed, they bend, some this way, some that, 

 and, instinct with life and motion, stare wildly 

 around them. Another step, and they all take 

 flight but one, which stoops low on the branch, and 

 with the look of a frightened cat regards me for a 

 few seconds over its shoulder. They fly swiftly 

 and softly, and disperse through the trees. I shoot 

 one, which is of a tawny red tint, like that figured 



