58 STOKIES OF BIRD LIFE 



had been. captured, and many of the neighbors came to see 

 him. A small box slatted on two sides served as his prison. 



Three days later I saw the feathered outlaw, which was 

 still confined without food or water. His large wing and 

 tail feathers had been badly worn and broken by beating 

 the prison bars in his efforts to escape, and he must have 

 been weak with fasting. When I took him in my hands his 

 great brown eyes rolled and slowly winked in helpless de- 

 fiance. He sought to reach me with his dangerous bill, and 

 his struggles for freedom were by no means feeble. 



I begged for his life, pleading that the good which he 

 did by destroying vermin far outweighed in value the few 

 chickens he had killed. But no, I was told that he had been 

 robbing henroosts for years, and had at length been caught 

 red-handed in the act, and so he must die. 1 1 1 got the hen 

 owl some time ago," his captor said, "and now I've got 

 the old he one, and I reckon that will pretty well break up 

 their chicken stealing." So the deed was done, and the 

 farmer congratulated himself that he had rid the neighbor- 

 hood of one of its greatest enemies. Down in the swamp 

 the little baby owls waited for their food and wondered 

 why it never came. 



Now the crawfishes and frogs along the creek have less to 

 fear, the screech owls whoop at pleasure in the trees about 

 the house, the meadow mice scamper about the fields the 



