THE BIRD OF NIGHT 



desisted from the attack. So I attached my linen 

 thread to the shutter, dropped the spool to the ground, 

 descended, and laid my line of communication to a tree 

 some rods away, behind which I hid. 



After a little investigation the owl returned to her 

 nest and settled down right before the staring lens. I 

 could now have pulled the thread but for the fact that, 

 owing to the very dull light, I had been obliged to set 

 the shutter for a timed exposure of one second, and the 

 trees were swaying violently, lashed by the gale. In 

 order to see clearly if there was a lull, I crept up close 

 to the owl tree unobserved and waited, thread in hand, 

 for the desired opportunity. Half an hour passed, 

 without a moment in which there was any chance of 

 success. While thus waiting, I was treated to a deli- 

 cious little episode of owl life. The male owl, a little 

 smaller than the efficient guardian of his children, 

 sailed suddenly through the shrubbery and alighted 

 upon a branch near the ground, hardly ten feet from 

 me. He had seen the camera and was all alert. In 

 one of his fluffy paws dangled a mouse, held by the 

 head, which he had evidently just caught and was 

 bringing to feed his family. He did not see me, and in 

 a moment, satisfied that the camera was harmless, he 

 flitted up to the nest. His mate arose to welcome him 

 and took the mouse, whereupon he flew off energetically 

 in search of another. Being so far underneath the 

 nest I could not see just what happened, but the 

 mother was evidently tearing the mouse, dividing it up 



66 



