22 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



There he sat facing me, a barred owl, his 

 black eyes staring straight into mine. How 

 big and solemn they looked ! Never tell me 

 that the barred owl cannot see by dayhght. 



The thrushes had followed him. It was 

 he, and not a human intruder, to whom they 

 had been addressing themselves. Soon the 

 owl flew a little further away (it was won- 

 derful how large he looked in the air), the 

 thrushes still after him ; and in a few min- 

 utes more he took wing again. This time 

 several robins joined the hermit and the 

 olive-back, and all hands disappeared up the 

 mountain side. Probably the pursuers were 

 largely reinforced as the chase proceeded, 

 and I imagined the big fellow pretty thor- 

 oughly mobbed before he got safely away. 

 Every small bird has his opinion of an owl. 



What interested me as much as anything 

 connected with the whole affair was the fact 

 that the olive-back, even in his excitement, 

 made use of nothing but his mellow staccato 

 whistle, such as he employs against the most 

 inoffensive of chance human disturbers. 

 Like the chickadee, and perhaps some other 

 birds, he is musical, and not over-emphatic, 

 even in his anger. 



