until she had rolled them back. The wonder is that 

 they ever hatched. 



But they had, and what they hatched was another 

 wonder. It was a right instinct which led the mother 

 to seek the middle of the Bear Swamp and there hide 

 her young in a hollow log. My sense of the fitness 

 of things should have equaled hers, certainly, and 

 I should have allowed her the privacy of the swamp. 

 It was unfair of me and rude. Nature never intended 

 a young buzzard for any eye but its mother's, and 

 she hates the sight of it. Elsewhere I have told of 

 a buzzard that devoured her eggs at the approach 

 of an enemy, so delicately balanced are her unnamable 

 appetites and her maternal affections ! 



The two freaks in the log must have been three 

 weeks old, I should say, the larger weighing about 

 four pounds. They were covered, as young owls are, 

 with deep, snow-white down, out of which protruded 

 their legs, long, black, scaly, snaky legs. They stood 

 braced on these, their receding heads drawn back, 

 their shoulders thrust forward, their bodies humped 

 between the featherless wings like challenging tom- 

 cats. 



In order to examine them, I crawled into the den ; 

 198 



