70 WILD LIFE IN THE TREE TOPS 



Owl, at least, still contrives to hold his own, and the coveys of partridges 

 this September of 1921 are as large and strong as I have ever seen them. 



Even before the war this unpopular little creature, having been imported 

 and liberated in the hope that it would become a permanent breeding species 

 was gradually becoming more and more firmly established, and during those 

 unrestful days when the majority of gamekeepers had forsaken the woods for 

 the trenches, and the gun for the rifle, the species had become so common 

 that the former haunts of Barn Owl, Kestrel, and Stock Dove, were often 

 tenanted by a pair of these weird little fellows. 



When on the wing the Little Owl looks very much like a missel-thrush ; 

 particularly as he has the same straight undulating flight, and many an oppor- 

 tunity to bowl him over has been missed, for the reason that he was at first 

 mistaken for the other bird. He is, in fact, comparatively seldom shot ; 

 neither is he often trapped, nor his nest easily discovered. Sometimes, of 

 course, an odd bird is shot, or is caught, purely by accident, in one of 

 the stoat or hedgehog traps which gamekeepers set in little wooden tunnels ; 

 on which occasions the Little Owl was doubtless on his way through the 

 tunnel on the look-out for beetles. 



During the evenings of March and April, he becomes very restless, and 

 it is then that one hears most frequently his sharp yelping cry, sometimes 

 uttered but once, and at others several times in quick succession. 



But when the eggs have been laid, he, like so many others of his kind, 

 observes a discreet silence, and it is not until the young are almost fledged 

 that attention is likely to be drawn to the nesting-hole. 



I have on many occasions looked into a Little Owl's nest, and on to the 

 form of the brooding female, without her showing the least alarm. I have 

 even lifted her off the eggs with my hand, and replaced her, without apparently 

 disturbing her at all ; in fact she has seemed to treat my intrusion with 

 a complacent unconcern. 



During the past summer I discovered a Little Owl's nest, which held two 

 eggs, quite low down in an old elm stump ; about a week later I again looked 

 into the hole, and found that there were still only two eggs, though I had 

 expected that there would be five or six. 



Wondering if the nest was deserted, I reached into the hole, and found 

 that the eggs were quite warm and marvelled that the Little Owl should have 

 been able to leave the tree without my seeing her. The following day I again 

 inspected the nest : the Owl did not fly off, and as before, the eggs were 

 warm. 



4 This time I determined to satisfy myself that the Owl was not hiding within, 



and feeling in all the crevices and side-holes about the nest, ultimately dis- 

 covered her squeezed into a small hole that ran upwards to another exit, 

 which was not large enough to allow her to pass out. 



