198 • THE BIRD OF THE STREET. 



served on the first appearance of the little 

 beast, and a close look revealed the presence of 

 the red-coated enemy himself, as lively and 

 bright as ever. There happened to be an un- 

 broken line of shade-trees from the spot in 

 which I had first seen him to that in which he 

 now appeared, and he had probably made the 

 entire trip without once descending to the 

 ground. 



In their usual pleasing manner of announ- 

 cing the presence of a visitor, the sparrow's one 

 day introduced a small owl. It was in Febru- 

 ary, and most of the trees were bare, but the 

 queer little fellow had taken refuge in the close 

 branches of the spruce-tree before my windows. 



At first I could not discover the cause of all 

 the disturbance, fifty or sixty sparrows hopping 

 about in one tree, and more arriving every 

 moment, all screaming at the top of their 

 voices. A close look, however, revealed the 

 little stranger in soft gray and white, about 

 eight inches high, — the mottled owl, I think, 

 — beautiful and fluffy looking, drawn snugly 

 back against the trunk. During the remainder 

 of that day, and all of the next, being part of 

 the time on that tree, and part on a tall leafless 

 maple across the street, the poor little wanderer 

 was persecuted by the mobbers, who scarcely 

 for a moment left him in peace, though, as usual 



