THE SCREECH OWL 153 



moments, I could usually make out the owl at the 

 bottom feigning sleep. Feigning, I say, because 

 this is what he really did, as I first discovered 

 one day when I cut into his retreat with the axe. 

 The loud blows and the falling chips did not 

 disturb him at all. When I reached in a stick 

 and pulled him over on his side, leaving one of 

 his wings spread out, he made no attempt to re- 

 cover himself, but lay among the chips and frag- 

 ments of decayed wood, like a part of themselves. 

 Indeed, it took a sharp eye to distinguish him. 

 Not till I had pulled him forth by one wing, 

 rather rudely, did he abandon his trick of simu- 

 lated sleep or death. Then, like a detected pick- 

 pocket, he was suddenly transformed into another 

 creature. His eyes flew wide open, his talons 

 clutched my finger, his ears were depressed, and 

 every motion and look said, " Hands off, at your 

 peril." Finding this game did not work, he soon 

 began to " play possum " again. I put a cover 

 over my study wood-box and kept him captive 

 for a week. Look in upon him at any time, night 

 or day, and he was apparently wrapped in the 

 profoundest slumber ; but the live mice which I 

 put into his box from time to time found his 

 sleep was easily broken ; there would be a sudden 

 rustle in the box, a faint squeak, and then silence. 

 After a week of captivity I gave him his freedom 



