XXII 



SILENT JVING THE GREAT HORNED OWL 



IT was one cold stormy day in February. All day the 

 wind had howled, and spiteful little gusts of snow had 

 sifted it down over the nest in the yawning hole. As the 

 twilight began to gather the mother bird arose and, stick- 

 ing her great horned head out of the hole, glanced sharply 

 about and then settled down again over five fuzzy little 

 babies that she had kept warm for the last thiry-six hours 

 without stirring from the nest. The storm should have 

 spent its fury by this time, but to her consternation there 

 was no sign of abatement. The babies must be fed, for 

 though most of the wildlings that kill for food must ac- 

 custom themselves to long periods without dining, her 

 babies were too young to fast for any great length of time. 

 Two nights ago her mate had brought them their first 

 taste of flesh and departed in quest of more, but now they 

 were chafing under the long wait for another feed. If only 

 the wind would settle and the sky clear she could go and 

 hunt ! But these babies were too young and too hungry to 

 stand the chill of cold snow sifting in over their backs, and 

 this was precisely what would happen if she left them now. 

 Why had not her mate come long ago, bringing provisions 

 for the family ? She had heard him sound the terror cry 

 several times that night, and surely some foolish chicken 



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