„ Indeed, I scarcely believed myself. But for 

 the blood which stained my handkerchief, 

 ^^^ookooskgps and the pain in my head, I should have 

 doubted the reality of the whole experience. 

 That night I started up out of sleep, and 

 said before I was half awake : " It was an 

 owl that hit you on the head — of course 

 it was an owl ! " Then I remembered that, 

 years before, an older boy had a horned owl, 

 which he had taken from a nest, and which 

 he kept loose in a dark garret over the shed. 

 None of us younger boys dared go up to the 

 garret, for the owl was always hungry, and 

 the moment a boy's head appeared through 

 the scuttle the owl said Hoooo ! and swooped 

 for it. So we used to get acquainted with 

 the big pet by pushing in a dead rat or a 

 chicken, on the end of a stick, and climbing 

 in ourselves afterwards. 



As I write, the whole picture comes back 

 to me again vividly; the dark, cobwebby old 

 garret, pierced here and there by a pencil of 

 light, in which the motes were dancing; the 

 fierce bird down on the floor in the darkest 

 corner, horns up, eyes gleaming, feathers all 



