THE BIRD OF NIGHT 



Screech Owl, which we may happen upon some time. 

 It is called the Saw-whet Owl because its love song in 

 the spring reminds one of the rasping of sharpening a 

 saw. Most specimens are seen in fall or winter, in 

 bushy pastures or cedar swamp thickets, or are found 

 dead in severe weather about houses, whither they have 

 been driven in a last vain hope of finding a mouse to 

 keep them from starving. 



A hunter whom I knew caught one of them in a steel 

 trap set for mink in the woods in March. He had the 

 little sprite in a room in his house, where it was flying 

 around actively, alighting on the furniture. I was glad 

 enough when he ofi^ered it to me, and took it home in a 

 box, to photograph and study it. The next day I 

 should have secured a series of pictures of it from life, 

 but a furious easterly gale was raging with a pouring 

 rain, and it was very dark. As the conditions were 

 most unfavorable, I waited till the next day, and was 

 sorry that I had not done the best I could even in the 

 storm, for the little creature lay dead under its perch, 

 and I have never yet had another chance to photograph 

 one. 



Had I begun to hunt birds with the camera a little 

 sooner than I did, I should have had a splendid oppor- 

 tunity to picture this rather rare owl, for I was so 

 fortunate as to find a nest eleven years ago. The bird 

 usually goes further north to breed, and this was the 

 only nest I ever have seen. I described the adventure 

 quite fully in "Wild Wings," but may say that it was 



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