244 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



pany anywhere within an owl's ear-shot of my 

 squeaking, I should hear from the little mouser. 



Once, twice, perhaps three times, there fell 

 upon my ear what seemed like the distant wail- 

 ing of a child or the faint whinnying of a horse. 

 All at once it came over me that the sound was 

 not distant, and I held my breath and listened 

 intently. It came again faint, tremulous, sad. 

 My ears declined to say whether it came fifty 

 feet or a quarter of a mile. I stole softly to- 

 wards the point from which it proceeded, but 

 before I had gone a rod I heard the same or 

 a similar sound on my left. This time it was 

 more distinct, and I knew it to be the quaver- 

 ing whinny of a screech owl. Stooping to the 

 ground, I scanned the apple-trees with the white 

 sky for a background. In the third tree from 

 me I saw a dark lump on a branch. I crept 

 towards it, and at the first sound I made, the 

 bunch resolved itself into a broad-winged little 

 owl, which flew across to the next tree. Kising, 

 I walked straight towards it, until I stood close 

 beneath the bird, who watched me without mov- 

 ing. 



Although I could see only his silhouette, I 

 knew well what his expression was like, having 

 had several of his family as pets. His feathery 

 ear-tufts were depressed, and his head was set 

 down closely upon his shoulders. Could I have 



