222 
AN EVENING REVELLER 
species, and in the coming centuries the grey Screech- 
owls may separate themselves from their brown 
brethren, refuse to intermarry, and take on some 
distinctive forms and characteristics* Although 
specimens are found of intermediate colouring, the 
tendency is toward the two distinctive types* It is 
the accurate sameness, and not the variation in species, 
that is yet to be explained* 
With the closing in of night the Screech-owl shakes 
off the lethargy of the day and rouses into open-eyed 
wakefulness* Then the trembling, plaintive call that 
his friends will linger in the night to hear fills the 
still, pyramidal Cedars and floats away into the cloud- 
like branches of the Pines. He starts across the open 
space, his straight course outlined against the sky, 
and the vigorous, rapid fluttering of his wings 
strangely silent* His predatory nature is now awake, 
and the eyes that blinked in the darling sunlight are 
strained to discern any unfortunate bird or mouse 
that chances in his vicinity* Again and again his 
plaintive tremolo fills the woods* There are some 
who shudder at its weird sadness, and hasten from 
it to the sustaining companionship of artificial lights. 
But the long, trembling note is music to the ear of 
understanding* Its very weirdness brings a satis- 
faction in the still evening* It is the voice of the 
forest whispering to the stars. 
