78 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
of work on his hands. Ten to one he will dig till sun- 
down, and go home tired and cross, with nothing to 
show for his pains. Mr. Owl, just an inch or two from 
the tip of the spade, is no doubt holding on to his sides 
with laughter, if owls ever do laugh in that way. 
The nest of the ground owl is not much of an affair, 
only some coarse stuff lining the hollow at the end of 
this long hole. Mrs. Owl is lazy, and can leave her 
egos in this warm place a long time and be sure that 
they will not chill. She pays her rent to the squirrels 
by eating any little squirrels she can lay hands on. 
CHAPTER: Xv: 
OUR SCREECH OWL. 
SPEAKING of owls reminds us of a pet screech owl 
which once happened to belong to us. One evening 
in midsummer we heard a thump against the screen in 
front of the fireplace, as if something rather soft had 
fallen down the chimney. Of course we hurried to see 
what it could be, and there was a small mouse, not at 
all hurt. 
We caught it as soon as we could, and found that it 
was covered with soot from its long, dark journey. 
Then we began guessing how it happened to get into 
the chimney-top. There was no possible way for it to 
do this except by being carried there by some other 
