AMONG MY TENANTS. 139 



under its bill, as if to warn it of what might 

 happen. 



The queerest of all my tenants was an old 

 mother barn owl who lived in the black charred 

 chimney of one of the sycamores. I found a 

 white feather on the black wood one day in riding 

 by, and pulling Canello up by the tree, broke off 

 a twig and rapped on the door. She came blun- 

 dering out and flew to a limb over our heads — 

 such a queer old crone, with her hooked nose 

 and her weazened face surrounded by a circlet of 

 dark feathers. The light blinded her, and with 

 her big round eyes wide open she leaned down 

 staring to make out who we were. Then shaking 

 her head reproachfully, she swayed solemnly 

 from side to side. As the wind blew against her 

 ragged feathers she drew her wings over her 

 breast like a cloak, making herself look like a 

 poverty-stricken wiseacre. Finding that we did 

 not offer to go, the poor old crone took to her 

 wings ; but as she passed down the line of syca- 

 mores she roused the blackbird clan, and a pair 

 of angry orioles flew out and attacked her. My 

 conscience smote me for driving her out among 

 her enemies, but on our return to the sycamores 

 all was quiet again, and a lizard was sunning 

 himself on the edge of the old owFs chimney. 



