WINTER NEIGHBORS. 69 



hiss secret, and mine never would have done so had 1 

 not chanced on one occasion to see him leave his re« 

 treat and make a raid upon a shrike that was impal- 

 ing a shrew-mouse upon a thorn in a neighboring tree, 

 and which I was watching. Failing to get the mouse, 

 the owl returned swiftly to his cavity, and ever since, 

 while going that way, I have been on the lookout for 

 him. Dozens of teams and foot-passengers pass him 

 late in the day, but he regards them not, nor they 

 him. When I come alone and pause to salute him, 

 he opens his eyes a little wider, and, appearing to 

 recognize me, quickly shrinks and fades into the b;ick^ 

 ground of his door in a very weird and curious 

 manner. When he is not at his outlook, or when he 

 is, it requires the best powers of the eye to decide the 

 point, as the empty cavity itself is almost an exact 

 image of him. If the whole thing had been carefully 

 studied it could not have answered its purpose better. 

 The owl stands quite perpendicular, presenting a front 

 of light mottled gray ; the eyes are closed to a mere 

 slit, the ear-feathers depressed, the beak buried in the 

 plumage, and the whole attitude is one of silent, 

 motionless waiting and observation. If a mouse 

 should be seen crossing the highway, or scudding over 

 any exposed part of the snowy surface in the twilight, 

 the owl would doubtless swoop down upon it. I 

 think the owl has learned to distinguish me from the 

 rest of the passers-by ; at least, when I stop before 

 him, and he sees himself observed, he backs down into 

 his den, as I have said, in a very amusing manner. 

 Whether bluebirds, nut -hatches, and chickadees — 

 birds that pass the night in cavities of trees — ever 

 run into the clutches of the dozing owl, I should be 

 glad to know. My impression is, however, that they 



