FOURTH WEEK] August 227 



volume. A tiny ball of feathers is perched in the centre 

 of the tangle, with beak hidden in the deep, soft plumage, 

 but ever and anon the little body throbs and the song 

 falls gently on the silence of the night : " I beseech you ! 

 I beseech you! I beseech you!" A Maryland yellow-throat 

 is asleep and singing in its dreams. 



As we look and listen, a shadowless something hovers 

 overhead, and, looking upward, we see a gray screech owl 

 silently hanging on beating wings. His sharp ears have 

 caught the muffled sound; his eyes search out the tangle, 

 but the yellow-throat is out of reach. The little hunter 

 drifts away into the blackness, the song ends and the 

 sharp squeak of a mouse startles us. We rise slowly from 

 our cramped position and quietly leave the mysteries of 

 the night. 



