IN THE HEMLOCKS 51 
built, but with such loving care and such beautiful 
adaptation of the means to the end, that it looks 
like a product of nature. The same wise economy 
is noticeable in the nests of all birds. No bird 
could paint its house white or red, or add aught for 
show. 
At one point in the grayest, most shaggy part of 
the woods, I come suddenly upon a brood of screech 
owls, full grown, sitting together upon a dry, moss- 
draped limb, but a few feet from the ground. I 
pause within four or five yards of them and am look- 
ing about me, when my eye alights upon these gray, 
motionless figures. They sit perfectly upright, some 
with their backs and some with their breasts toward 
me, but every head turned squarely in my direction. 
Their eyes are closed to a mere black line; through 
this crack they are watching me, evidently thinking 
themselves unobserved. The spectacle is weird and 
grotesque, and suggests something impish and un- 
canny. It is a new effect, the night side of the 
woods by daylight. After observing them a mo- 
ment I take a single step toward them, when, quick 
as thought, their eyes fly wide open, their attitude 
is changed, they bend, some this way, some that, 
and, instinct with life and motion, stare wildly 
around them. Another step, and they all take 
flight but one, which stoops low on the branch, and 
with the look of a frightened cat regards me for a 
few seconds over its shoulder. They fly swiftly 
and softly, and disperse through the trees. I shoot 
one, which is of a tawny red tint, like that figured 
