Silverspot 



At my approach he gave a guttural ' grrr-oo 7 

 and flew off with low flagging flight to haunt 

 the distant sombre woods. 



Two days afterward, at dawn, there was a great 

 uproar among the crows. I went out early to 

 see, and found some black feathers drifting over 

 the snow. I followed up the wind in the direc- 

 tion from which they came and soon saw the 

 bloody remains of a crow and the great double- 

 toed track which again told me that the mur- 

 derer was the owl. All around were signs of the 

 struggle, but the fell destroyer was too strong. 

 The poor crow had been dragged from his perch 

 at night, when the darkness had put him at a 

 hopeless disadvantage. 



I turned over the remains, and by chance 

 unburied the head — then started with an ex- 

 clamation of sorrow. Alas ! It was the head 

 of old Silverspot. His long life of usefulness 

 to his tribe was over — slain at last by the owl 

 that he had taught so many hundreds of young 

 crows to beware of. 



The old nest on the Sugar Loaf is abandoned 

 now. The crows still come in spring-time to 

 Castle Frank, but without their famous leader 



87 



