84 American Birds 



When the nestlings grew older the mother slept in the 

 cypress tree during the day. Twice I tried to climb the 

 tree to get a good view of her, but each time she flew 

 out as soon as I got a few feet up. She seemed to have 

 no trouble in seeing by day as well as by night, but 

 the eyes of the owl are undoubtedly much keener after 

 dark. 



We crept out one night and hid in a brush-heap by 

 the barn. It was not long before the scratching and soft 

 hissing of the young owls told us their breakfast-time 

 had come. The curtain of the night had fallen. The 

 day creatures were at rest. Suddenly a shadow flared 

 across the dim-lit sky; there was a soundless sweeping of 

 wings as the shadow winnowed back again. The young 

 owls, by instinct, knew of the approach of food, for 

 there was a sudden outburst in the soap box like the 

 whistle of escaping steam. It was answered by a rasp- 

 ing, witching screech. I thought of the time when we 

 used to creep out at the dead of night and scare an old 

 negro by drawing a chunk of resin along a cord attached 

 to the top of an empty tin can. Again and again the 

 shadow came and went. Then I crept into the barn, 

 felt my way up, and edged along the rafters to the hen- 

 roosty old box. Silently I waited and listened to a nasal 

 concert that might have come from a cageful of snakes. 

 As soon as food was brought I lit a match, and saw one of 

 the little " monkey-faces " tearing the head from the body 

 of a young gopher. 



The barn owl kills the largest squirrel quickly and 

 easily, for the animal apparently terror-stricken does not 

 show much fight. With sharp talons stuck firmly into the 



