68 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



love the dusk ; both have come forth to their 

 open doors in order to watch the darkening; 

 both will make off under the cover — one for 

 mice and frogs over the meadow, the other for 

 slugs and insects over the crooked, tangled limbs 

 of the tree. 



It is strange enough to see them together, but 

 it is stranger still to think of them together, for it 

 is just such prey as this little toad that the owl 

 has gone over the meadow to catch. 



Why does he not take the supper ready here 

 on the shelf? There may be reasons that we, 

 who do not eat tree-toad, know nothing of; but 

 I am inclined to believe that the owl has never 

 seen his fellow lodger in the doorway above, 

 though he must often have heard him piping his 

 gentle melancholy in the gloaming, when his 

 skin cries for rain ! 



Small wonder if they have never met! for this 

 gray, squat, disc-toed little monster in the hole, 

 or flattened on the bark of the tree like a patch 

 of lichen, may well be one of those things which 

 are hidden from the sharp-eyed owl. Whatever 

 purpose be attributed to his peculiar shape and 

 color, — protective, obliterative, mimicking, — it 



