NOVEMBER. 175 



have sighted England, even fifty miles of adverse 

 weather off our east coast would present no serious 

 obstacle ; but to an owl it might make all the 

 difference of landing at last in Holland instead of 

 Norfolk. 



THE STRANGER IN THE SHRUBBERY. 



Though short-eared owls seemed to be scarce 

 as yet, barn-owls and brown owls had driven their 

 offspring of the year far and wide, and many have 

 been our opportunities of discovering these outcast 

 owls by day in unexpected places. A garden shrub- 

 bery, however shady and mouse-ridden, is one of the 

 worst places for a young owl to try to occupy. Soon 

 or late some prying sparrow surely finds him out, 

 and straightway raises a jarring protest against the 

 weird presence in the darkness of the evergreens. 

 All the other sparrows join in with a " damnable 

 iteration" which at last commands your attention. 

 In the next bush, too, a robin sits "chittering" by 

 fits and starts, while a blackbird in the darkness 

 below keeps up a running alarum of " Chink-chink- 

 chink." Then some lively chaffinches come bustling 

 up with crests on end to see what the fuss is about, 

 and at once their brisk monosyllabic "Twink, 

 twink," dominates the din and gives it point to 

 penetrate the least observant ear. Seldom can the 

 owl remain after the chaffinches have discovered him ; 

 for, fluttering in the air like white-splashed butterflies 

 immediately over the very branch on which he sits, 

 they advertise his exact locality, and it is usually not 

 long before the branches are parted and an inquisitive 



