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points, through which the air can make no 



sound as it rushes in the swift wing-beats. 



The whisk of a duck's wings can be heard Snoary Hsifora 



two or three hundred yards on a still night. 



The wings of an eagle rustle like silk in the 



wind, as he mounts upward. A sparrow's 



wings flutter or whir as he changes his 



flight. Every one knows the startled rush 



of a quail or grouse. But no ear ever heard 



the passing of a great owl, spreading his 



five-foot wings in rapid flight. 



He knows well, however, when to vary his 

 program. Once I saw him hovering at dusk 

 over some wild land covered with bushes 

 and dead grass, a favorite winter haunt of 

 meadow-larks. His manner showed that he 

 knew his game was near. He kept hover- 

 ing over a certain spot, swinging off noise- 

 lessly to right or left, only to return again. 

 Suddenly he struck his wings over his head 

 with a loud flap and swooped instantly. It 

 was a clever trick. The bird beneath had 

 been waked by the sound, or startled into 

 turning his head. With the first movement 

 the owl had him. 



