IN THE WREN ORCHARD. 201 



rough bark of the apple tree that it requires 

 sharp or experienced eyes to see him. Puffy 

 is one of two barred owls which I have held in 

 happy captivity since June 1, 1888, the day on 

 which I took them from their ancestral castle in 

 a White Mountain forest. Puffy is not a favor- 

 ite with other birds. They dislike and distrust 

 him, and when I place him in a tree, from which 

 a crippled wing prevents his flying, they come to 

 him in dozens, scolding and complaining at his 

 very existence in their midst. To-day, while 

 the last petals of the apple blossoms have been 

 falling around him, most of the birds already 

 named, and in addition kingbirds, least fly- 

 catchers, redstarts, black-and-white creepers, 

 ovenbirds, black- throated green warblers, red- 

 eyed and solitary vireos, downy and golden- 

 winged woodpeckers, rose-breasted grosbeaks 

 and chickadees have perched or hovered near, 

 noisily expressing their bitter feelings towards 

 him. Sometimes I see his great round head 

 turned towards the sky, and his eyes fix them- 

 selves upon some moving bird. A chimney 

 swift or a barn swallow attracts him for a second 

 only, but if a hawk or a crow crosses his 

 heavens his eyes never leave it until it disap- 

 pears from view. He cares little or nothing 

 for the abuse of other birds, but if they actually 

 assault him, as kingbirds and flickers often do, 



