320 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



snow-white plumage lost amidst the flakes. We 

 thrill in admiration at the grand bird, so fearless 

 of the raging elements. 



Only the coldest and fiercest storms will tempt 

 him from the north, and then not because he fears 

 snow or cold, but in order to keep within reach of 

 the snowbirds which form his food. He seeks for 

 places where a less severe cold encourages small 

 birds to be abroad, or where the snow's crust is 

 less icy, through which the field mice may bore 

 their tunnels, and run hither and thither in the 

 moonlight, pulling down the weeds and cracking 

 their frames of ice. Heedless of passing clouds, 

 these little rodents scamper about, until a darker, 

 swifter shadow passes, and the feathered talons 

 of the snowy owl close over the tiny, shivering 

 bundle of fur. 



Occasionally after such a storm, one may come 

 across this white owl in some snowy field, hunt- 

 ing in broad daylight; and that must go down as 

 a red-letter day, to be remembered for years. 



What would one not give to know of his adven- 

 tures 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 



