WINTER NEIGHBORS. 67 



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 nut-hatches, 

 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 and at once approach the hole in the trunk or 

 limb, and with a kind of breathless eagerness and ex- 

 citement 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 move- 

 ments 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 sleep. 

 Feigning, I say, because this is what he really did, as 

 I first discovered one day when I cut into his retreat 

 with the axe. The loud blows and the falling chips 

 did not disturb him at all. When I reached in a 

 stick and pulled him over on his side, leaving one of 

 his wings spread out, he made no attempt to recover 

 himself, but lay among the chips and fragments of 

 decayed wood, like a part of themselves. Indeed, it 

 took a sharp eye to distinguish him. Nor till I had 

 pulled him forth by one wing, rather rudely, did he 

 abandon his trick of simulated sleep or death. Then, 

 like a detected pickpocket, he was suddenly trans- 

 formed into another creature. His eyes flew wide 

 open, his talons clutched my finger, his ears were de- 



