304 WILD WINGS 



some forty feet from the ground, he was rewarded by seeing 

 a Long-eared Owl reluctantly leave, disclosing five downy 

 owlets. 



A similar incident gave me a delightful experience. Camp- 

 ing on an islet in Lake Winnepesaukee early one June, 

 I landed one morning on Bear Island and explored a tract of 

 large trees, mostly hemlocks. Halfway up one of the largest 

 of the latter I soon espied a bulky nest of sticks, and under 

 it white egg-shells and droppings. Presently I was seated 

 astride an adjoining branch, watching with eager interest 

 the four half-grown owlets of this species that stood up in the 

 nest and with bristling feathers, angry hisses, and snappings 

 of their beaks menaced their unwelcome visitor. Suddenly 

 the mother appeared on the scene. Seldom have I heard 

 such an outcry from a bird throat. She hopped or flitted 

 uneasily from branch to branch only about a dozen feet 

 from me, mewing like a cat, wailing like a lynx, fairly scream- 

 ing with fear and indignation, and as an interlude snapping 

 her bill so rapidly as to suggest the roll of a watchman's 

 rattle. Father Owl allowed me only fleeting glimpses of 

 himself at a respectful distance, as he approached to assist 

 his agonized mate, only to retreat as his scant courage was 

 exhausted. This continued as long as I remained in the tree, 

 about half an hour. 



Minded to have a pet or two, I returned to camp for a basket. 

 One of the young owls fell from the nest as I started down, 

 and I put it on a stub for safety from prowlers. When I 

 returned in the afternoon, the youngster on the stub had 

 disappeared, as well as one from the nest. The female was 

 now as shy as she had been bold, only barely venturing within 

 sight. Curious to know whither the parents had transported 

 their young, I climbed to every nest I could discover within 

 a considerable radius, numbering not a few, but all in vain. 



