34 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



sible, and compresses his feathers until he seems 

 naught but the slender, broken stump of 

 some bough, — ragged topped (thanks to his 

 *' horns "), gray and lichened. It is little short 

 of a miracle how this spluttering, saucer-eyed, 

 feathered cat can melt away into woody fibre 

 before our very eyes. 



We quickly understand why in the daytime the 

 little owl is so anxious to hide his form from pub- 

 lic view. Although he can see well enough to fly 

 and to perch, yet the bright sunlight on the snow 

 is too dazzling to permit of swift and sure action. 

 AU the birds of the winter woods seem to know; 

 this and instantly take advantage of it. Spar- 

 rows, chickadees, and woodpeckers go nearly wild 

 with excitement when they discover the little owl, 

 hovering about him and occasionally making darts 

 almost in his very face. We can :well believe that 

 as the sun sets, after an afternoon of such excite- 

 ment, they flee in terror, selecting for that night's 

 perch the densest tangle of sweetbrier to be found. 



One hollow tree may yield a little gray owl, 

 while from the next yre may draw a red one ; and 

 the odd thing about this is that this difference in 

 colour does not depend upon age, sex, or season, 

 and no ornithologist can say why it occurs. What 

 can these little fellows find to feed upon these cold 

 nights, yrhen the birds seek the most hidden and 

 sheltered retreats? We might murder the next 

 owl we come across ; but would any fact we might 



