AN OWL OF THE NORTH 



T is mid-winter, and from the 

 northland a blizzard of icy winds 

 and swirling snow crystals is sweeping 

 with fury southward over woods and 

 fields. We sit in our warm room be- 

 fore the crackling log fire and listen to the shriek of the 

 gale and wonder how it fares with the little bundles of 

 feathers huddled among the cedar branches. 



We picture to ourselves all the wild kindred sheltered 

 from the raging storm; the gray squirrels rocking in their 

 lofty nests of leaves; the chipmunks snug underground; 



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