162 Sherman, Nest Life of the Screech Owl. [April 



sleep. For inspection they were placed on a stool over whose 

 edges they frequently walked, but often saved themselves from 

 falling by catching hold upon the edge with their hooked bills. 

 Sometimes they arranged themselves along the edge of the stool, 

 looking solemn and wise, then one would begin to sway, the others 

 would join in the exercise, which was continued with the precision 

 of a class in calisthenics. As soon as they could climb by using 

 claws and bill a three-cornered shelf was the favorite perch for one 

 of them, there immovably as a stuffed owl it stood until forcibly 

 displaced. 



The female Screech Owl calls to mind the village loafer who in 

 describing his life occupation said that "sometimes he sat and 

 thought, and sometimes he jest sot." In the case of this owl she 

 "jest sot." During one of the long vigils — the one that lasted 

 until half past two in the morning — there was a noise three or 

 four times as of the eggs rattling against each other, and once she 

 snapped her bill. This was all. Verily, a sitting Screech Owl is 

 not a lively companion for the still watches of the night. After 

 incubation began on only four occasions was the nest seen without 

 her, two of these have been mentioned, the evenings on which she 

 was driven out for the purpose of marking and weighing the eggs : 

 on the other two she left voluntarily as the blind door was opened. 



Her disposition was unreliable and created much trepidation 

 and uncertainty as to the limit of inspection she would bear. One 

 illustration of this was given on March 28 when she left her nest 

 while her visitors were at the distance of six rods or more from the 

 blind; again on May 1 there was another instance. Up to this 

 time she had suffered the removal of her young from under her 

 both in the daytime and in the evening, then it was the tossing 

 of a common shrew into the nest that scared her out. This was at 

 one o'clock in the afternoon, three hours later her young were 

 stiffening with cold, but warmth furnished by the flame of a lamp 

 and by the sun saved the nestling's lives. 



The mother expressed disapproval of the examination of her 

 nest by the snapping of her bill, the laying back of her ear-tufts, 

 and the glare of her eyes, but never did she offer to bite nor to 

 claw the hand. Once her leg, was seized by mistake for a nestling, 

 and she uttered a cry of distress heard at no other time. Quietly 



