The Long-eared Owl 



completely was the play carried out that the bird fluttered her wings and 

 trod vigorously, with a rocking motion, as though sinking her claws 

 deeply into a victim. I was astounded. Nor should I believe the 

 evidence of my own eyes to this day, if I had not witnessed the same 

 play repeatedly thereafter. The Owl thought she had me going, and I 

 humored her to the point of absolute personal satisfaction. There was 



never a trace of fur or 

 feathers or gore on the 

 deserted stage. The 

 distress cries, always 

 convincing, were never 

 overdone, but ceased, as 

 they should, after the 

 first onslaught. Yet if 

 I did not yield a prompt 

 obedience to the lure, 

 the Owl looked about 

 reproachfully and then 

 redoubled her demon- 

 strative wrestle with her 

 alleged quarry. 



It was noteworthy 

 in this connection that 

 while other birds usually 

 paid little heed to the 

 notes of this Owl, how- 

 ever terrifying in volume 

 or tone, this distress cry 

 commanded instant at- 

 tention throughout the 

 woods. The small birds 

 began to chatter sym- 

 pathetically, while 

 Crows and Magpies ral- 

 lied as though at the 

 blast of a bugle. In 

 fact, some nimble Mag- 

 pie, as often as not, 

 interrupted the play before it was half finished. This was the clew, if 

 clew were needed, to the explanation. Your humble servant was a big 

 Magpie, who at the sound of conflict might be expected to rush forward 

 and snatch the prize from the victor's grasp. Clever, wasn't it? And, 



1086 



A MENACE IN PIN-FEATHERS 

 IT IS to laugh; but we may suppose his little heart is quaking 



