THE ATLANTIC SLOPE NATURALIST. 



33 



allel with the earth's surface. This 

 makes a very secure place for winter 

 quarters, if just the end of the limb 

 is hollow, for m v enemies .seldom at- 

 tempt an entrance under these con- 

 ditions. 



Kris : A Chapter in the Life of a 



Young Screech Owl. 

 By W. A Id worth Poyser, Philadelphia, Pa. 



Whilst sojourning during the spring 

 of 1899 in the vicinity of Lester, Del- 

 aware county, Pa., my attention was 

 directed to a nest of MegascopS asio 

 in the hollow of an old oak which 

 had once been the domicile of some 

 time- honored woodpecker. The nest 

 contained hut a single occupant, clad 

 in a simple garb of gray. 



From the size and plumage of the 

 hirdling, I judged him to be old 

 enough to remove from the home cir- 

 cle; so accordingly transferred the 

 timid, Huffy youngster, notwith- 

 standing the strenuous resistance 

 which he made with, bill and claw, to 

 my huge coat pocket. 



Arriving home in the early evening 

 I released my unwilling prisoner from 

 his gloomy dungeon and placed his 

 little lordship upon a table. A more 

 indignant bit of flesh and feathers, as 

 evidenced by the vicious snappings of 

 his bill, could hardly he conceived. 

 But the tuss and fury which my pres- 

 ence had evoked soon spent itself, 

 especially after I had landed my feath- 

 ered captive in a cage, and a holy calm 

 succeeded. 



Settled in an easy position in a 

 corner of the cage, as remote from my 

 contaminating touch as ir was possible 

 to get, he assumed a demeanor of 

 philosophical complacency, blinking 

 and blinking, and all the time trying 

 to look exceeding wise. It was the 

 peculiar quaintness of his look and 

 attire that led me to give him the 

 name of Kris — a name which his 

 characteristic dress alone was suffi- 

 cient to suggest. 



Kris, while in many respects a re- 

 markable bird of his kind, was, above 

 everything else, a great feeder. The 

 amount of food he daily consumed was 

 enormous. Chunk after chunk of 

 beef would be taken until it seemed 

 that his capacious craw woud never 

 be filled. Some kinds of fare were 

 more desirable than others. Mice to 

 him were racy tidbits He would 

 seize a proffered morsel with wonderful 

 quickness, proceed with great skill 

 to disembowel it, the viscera being in 

 variably the first portion of the victim 

 to disappear. 



Passe?' domesticus whether lean or 

 fat, was eaten with equal avidity and 

 apparently with as much gusto. 



When Kris was eight months old I 

 took him, of course in his cage, on a 

 gunning trip into the country among 

 the scenes of his early childhood 

 days, much to his great delight and 

 infinite satisfaction. They were gala 

 days to him and are long to be re- 

 membered. There was no scarcity of 

 game, and Kris came in for the full 

 lion's share. Every tempting bit of 

 game went his way, and no human 

 epicure ever enjoyed an outing with 

 keener relish. 



But all exhibitions of gourmandism 

 are sure to be followed by periods of 

 drowsiness and stupidity, and Kris' 

 case was no exception to the rule. 

 He had had a good time, and the next 

 two days showed he was paying the 

 penalty for his injudicious actions. 



During the long, weary autumnal 

 and winter months Kris and I lived 

 happily together. We were close 

 friends and boon companions. But 

 when the first warm breath of spring 

 had come to gladden the earth with 

 its genial smiles and refreshing 

 blooms, I restored Kris to his native 

 heath. Most unceremoniously the 

 little ingrate left the roof that had 

 sheltered him so long, not even deign- 

 ing the merest apology of a good-bye 

 look to the one who had so kindly 

 nourished and befriended him. 



