WINTER NEIGHBORS 129 



have gone smelling around for a bone; but this 

 sharp, cautious track held straight across all others, 

 keeping five or six rods from the house, up the 

 hill, across the highway toward a neighboring farm- 

 stead, with its nose in the air, and its eye and ear 

 alert, so to speak. 



A winter neighbor of mine, in whom I am in- 

 terested, and who perhaps lends me his support 

 after his kind, is a little red owl, whose retreat is in 

 the heart of an old apple-tree just over the fence. 

 Where he keeps himself in spring and summer, I 

 do not know, but late every fall, and at intervals 

 all winter, his hiding-place is discovered by the 

 jays and nuthatches, and proclaimed from the tree- 

 tops for the space of half an hour or so, with all 

 the powers of voice they can command. Four times 

 during one winter they called me out to behold this 

 little ogre feigning sleep in his den, sometimes in 

 one apple-tree, sometimes in another. Whenever 

 I heard their cries, I knew my neighbor was being 

 berated. The birds would take turns at looking in 

 upon him, and uttering their alarm-notes. Every 

 jay within hearing would come to the spot, arid at 

 once approach the hole in the trunk or limb, and 

 with a kind of breathless eagerness and excitement 

 take a peep at the owl, and then join the outcry. 

 When I approached they would hastily take a final 

 look, and then withdraw and regard my movements 

 intently. After accustoming my eye to the faint 

 light of the cavity for a few moments, I could 

 usually make out the owl at the bottom feigning 



