2o6 AMERICAN OBNITHOLOGY. 



the claws to maintain their grip is common to perching birds. It is 

 this which enables them to maintain an involuntary hold on the roost 

 during sleep, but it is specialized and brought to the utmost perfection 

 in the owls. 



To make the grip more perfect than in other birds, one of the three 

 front toes on each foot is so jointed that it can be turned backward, 

 thereby giving the owl a grip like that of the Woodpecker's, two toes 

 before and two behind. This toe can be plunged in sidewise at will 

 -wherever it finds the least resistance. So if ever you wish to befriend 

 an owl never offer to shake hands with him, for the grip passeth that 

 of all secret orders. 



SUMMER HOMES IN ALASKA. 



By J. Alden Loring, with photos by the author. 



Y^AHEN I left the head of Cook Inlet, Alaska, May 4, 1902, the 

 11/ days were warm, but the snow in the forest was so deep that 

 '^^'^^ the Indians were forced to wear snow shoes when they went 

 on hunting trips, and in the inlet massive ice floes surged to and fro 

 with each tide. For two days we fought these packs from a frail sloop, 

 and on the afternoon of the third day were prevented by the ice from 

 approaching nearer than half a mile of our destinatian — the Indian 

 village of Knik. 



Stepping from the boat I climbed to the top of a stranded chunk of 

 ice, and gazed over the cheerless scene while the natives were unload- 

 ing our six month's supply of provisions. It was then that I realized 

 for the first time what an expanse of territory separated me from my 

 New York home, and how completely alone I seemed to be. To be 

 sure there were the Indians, plenty of them, for they had seen us ap- 

 proaching and had walked along the snow-covered beach to meet the 

 pale-faced stranger and learn his business. But the faces lacked friend- 

 ly expression and their jabber was unfamiliar; what I longed for was 

 the smile or voice of a friend, and little did I dream that my yearning 

 would so soon be gratified. 



The boat had been unloaded, and the Indians shouldering sacks of 

 flour, slabs of bacon and boxes of canned goods, were about to start 

 for the cluster of log cabins, when a familiar voice called to me. A 

 voice that I knew almost as well as that of my mother; a voice that 

 in my infancy had many times lulled me to sleep, and equally as often 

 awakened me at morn. It was dear old Robin Redbreast. I could 

 not have been more startled had he spoken my name, and I wanted to 

 hug him for joy. How I wished that he could talk; that he might tell 

 me of his journey, and how he had left my friends at home. 



