THE SCREECH OWL 153 



moments, I could usually make out the owl at the 

 bottom feigning sleep. Feigning, I say, because 

 this is what he really did, as I first discovered 

 one day when I cut into his retreat with the axe. 

 The loud blows and the falling chips did not 

 disturb him at all. When I reached in a stick 

 and pulled him over on his side, leaving one of 

 his wings spread out, he made no attempt to re- 

 cover himself, but lay among the chips and frag- 

 ments of decayed wood, like a part of themselves. 

 Indeed, it took a sharp eye to distinguish him. 

 Not till I had pulled him forth by one wing, 

 rather rudely, did he abandon his trick of simu- 

 lated sleep or death. Then, like a detected pick- 

 pocket, he was suddenly transformed into another 

 creature. His eyes flew wide open, his talons 

 clutched my finger, his ears were depressed, and 

 every motion and look said, "Hands off, at your 

 peril." Finding this game did not work, he soon 

 began to " play possum " again. I put a cover 

 over my study wood-box and kept him captive 

 for a week. Look in upon him at any time, night 

 or day, and he was apparently wrapped in the 

 prof oundest slumber ; but the live mice which I 

 put into his box from time to time found his 

 sleep was easily broken ; there would be a sudden 

 rustle in the box, a faint squeak, and then silence. 

 After a week of captivity I gave him his freedom 



