332 WILD WINGS 



my next camera-shot. After a vigil of an hour and seven 

 minutes I had another. 



If there were any question as to whether such sport is 

 worth while, in answer I would point to the picture of the 

 old owl, every marking of her beautiful plumage distinct, her 

 feathers fluffed out, stooping over to caress her owlet, which 

 is snuggled down behind the piece of rabbit visible on the < 

 edge of the nest. If such a picture of such a bird is not 

 thought worth a day's sport in the open air, I do not think 

 much of the sporting blood of one who holds such opinion. 

 The exhilarating drive through the fine woodland and moun- 

 tain scenery, the bracing air, the excitement of tree-climbing, 

 the lunch with keen appetite in the laurel thicket, the sights 

 of unsuspecting wild creatures, the exciting expectancy 

 through all, even these, aside from the picture, make a glori- 

 ous day's outing. 



After the second exposure I stole out of the grove without 

 alarming the brooding owl leaving the plate unchanged 

 - and summoned the youth again to assist me. First I had 

 him climb the owl-tree, slender and partly rotten, to the nest. 

 There was only one owlet, now about the size of a pigeon, 

 covered with white down, save for incipient yellowish feathers 

 on back and wings. With it was a rotten egg which contained 

 a small embryo. Probably it had become chilled, and this 

 episode helps account for the fact that these owls often raise 

 but one owlet. I noticed another thing, too. The nest of 

 sticks, unusually small and rough in the first place, probably 

 an old nest of a pair of Broad-winged Hawks which breed in 

 these woods, at each of my succeeding visits was smaller 

 than before, as though it was gradually dropping to pieces. 

 There was now barely enough of it left to hold the owl family 

 and its stock of food, which latter consisted of the hind quar- 

 ters of a rabbit. 



