166 BIRD STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



casion. Ever since, while going that way, I have 

 been on the lookout for him. Dozens of teams 

 and foot-passengers pass him late in the day, 

 but he regards them not, nor they him. When I 

 come along and pause to salute him, he opens 

 his eyes a little wider, and, appearing to recog- 

 nize me, quickly shrinks and fades into the back- 

 ground of his door in a very weird and curious 

 manner. When he is not at his outlook, or 

 when he is, it requires the best powers of the 

 eye to decide the point, as the empty cavity it- 

 self is almost an exact image of him. If the 

 whole thing had been carefully studied, it could 

 not have answered its purpose better. The owl 

 stands quite perpendicular, presenting a front of 

 light mottled gray; the eyes are closed to a 

 mere slit, the ear-feathers depressed, the beak 

 buried in the plumage, and the whole attitude is 

 one of silent, motionless waiting and observation. 

 If a mouse should be seen crossing the highway, 

 or scudding over any exposed part of the snowy 

 surface in the twilight, the owl would doubtless 

 swoop down upon it. I think the owl has learned 

 to distinguish me from the rest of the passers-by ; 

 at least, when I stop before him, and he sees 

 himself observed, he backs down into his den, as 

 I have said, in a very amusing manner. 



