298 The Great Horned Owl 



brook, stringing the last speckled beauty, prepara- 

 tory to going home. Suddenly the stillness was 

 broken by an ominous cry reverberating through 

 the forest, and echoing and re-echoing from the 

 neighboring hills. As it sounded across the pasture, 

 it seemed to vibrate the gathering gloom. The boy 

 stood motionless, listening intently, for he knew it to 

 be the hunting call of the Great Homed Owl. "He 

 will soon be at the old stub watch tower," said the 

 boy to himself, " and I will catch him in the act." 



Cautiously he approached and surveyed the old 

 stub, as it stood silhouetted against the sky, above 

 the adjacent tree tops, but not a sign of an owl 

 was to be seen. Quietly he concealed himself, wait- 

 ing and watching, and listening for the different wood- 

 folk that might be astir. Near by he heard the twitter 

 of an' uneasy bird, the squeak of a mouse, the scurry 

 of fast-flying feet on the dead leaves, and the splash 

 of the muskrats playing in a pool of the creek. These 

 sounds were ever sweet music in the ear of the country 

 lad, but his thoughts that night were of the Great 

 Horned Owl and his hunting. A red squirrel, dis- 

 covering him, came upon a branch overhead, chatter- 

 ing and scolding as usual, and for an instant the boy 

 turned his gaze upon him and then back again to 

 the stub. During that brief moment, as silent as 



