OUR FEATHERED POLICEMEN 207 



to search for some early nests of mellow Black- 

 bird or speckled Thrush. Judge, then, of my 

 surprise when I gazed almost immediately above 

 me, close to the body of the dead Owl, and saw a 

 live Barn Owl sitting there and apparently keep- 

 ing vigil over the corpse of his late consort! 

 Unmoved by my presence, the beautiful soft- 

 clothed creature continued to sit there — a veri- 

 table picture in white and tawny as seen against 

 the dark, sombre green of the Laurels. 



My unexpected friend blinked at me in the 

 manner these feathered fowl are wont to do, 

 eyed me suspiciously, but refused to budge from 

 his environment. 



My heart was too full for words; what pathos 

 I seemed to be able to read in the bird's face; 

 what courage the Owl possessed to sit there 

 guarding the body of its dead comrade, and what 

 a rent in the lives of two happy and useful 

 creatures had been caused by the wanton slaughter 

 referred to. 



At last, the live bird decided to quit the sicken- 

 ing scene, and away he went through the wood 

 on unerring wings, rushing headlong through the 

 dense growth with remarkable cleverness, for 

 he never once came into contact with anything 

 that would hamper his progress. The power this 

 bird has upon the wing is very remarkable, and I 

 would hardly have credited that, when flying at 



