FOURTH WEEK] 



December 



337 



light; and that must go down as a red-letter day, to be 

 remembered for years. 



What would one not give to know of his adventures 

 since he left the far north. What stories he could tell of 

 hunts for the ptarmigan, those Arctic fowl, clad in 

 plumage as white as his own; or the little kit foxes, or the 

 seals and polar bears playing the great game of life and 

 death among the grinding icebergs! 



His visit to us is a short one. Comes the first hint of 

 a thaw and he has vanished like a melting snowflake, back 

 to his home and his mate. There in a hollow in the half- 

 frozen Iceland moss, in February, as many as ten fuzzy 

 little snowy owlets may grow up in one nest, all as 

 hardy and beautiful and brave as their great fierce-eyed 

 parents. 



