CONCERNING SMALL OWLS. 113 



for company, is scarcely tempting, even though 

 the moon shines brilliantly. Then, it occurred to 

 me, is it not enough that the wind had ceased, 

 and that out-of-doors it is something more than 

 merely April in name? Therefore, expecting 

 little and hoping less, I ventured abroad, direct- 

 ing my steps, as usual, meadow-ward. And it was 

 not with, as might seem at first, an altogether 

 undesirable and non-receptive frame of mind. 

 One is far more likely to be content with little, 

 and not wholly disappointed if his walk proves 

 without adventure. But the latter is seldom or 

 never the result. It is a strange night that finds 

 the whole world asleep. Certainly I never found 

 it so before, and did not to-night. By the pale 

 light of the cloud-wrapped moon, stately herons 

 wended their way from the river to the meadows, 

 and twice a little owl hooted at me as I passed 

 by the hollow hickory that stands as a lonely sen- 

 tinel in the midst of a wide reach of pasture. 

 Here was an instance when to be hooted at was 

 a positive pleasure. The little owlet questioned 

 the propriety of my being abroad at night, nor 

 was he at all mealy-mouthed. He did not com- 

 plain merely, but scolded unmistakably; and 

 hovering above me as well as when flitting from 

 branch to branch, he snapped his little beak most 

 viciously. It was evident that fear of myself did 

 not influence the owl at all, but he was provoked 



