286 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER. 
the track, the voices of birds could be heard on 
our left. Petulant, and even angry cries came 
from the damp shades. We stopped and lis¬ 
tened, and I said, “It sounds to me as though 
an owl were being worried in there.” Then I 
entered the spruces, going very slowly and cau¬ 
tiously. Chickadees, nuthatches, and kinglets 
were chattering and scolding. I pressed in, 
sometimes working my way on hands and knees 
over the snow which still remained under the 
cover of the dense woods. By and by I could 
see some of the birds. They were evidently 
greatly excited, and they all seemed to be look- 
ing at the same thing, — a something around 
which they formed a circle. I crept on. Fully 
twenty small birds were in sight. Three at 
least were the weak-voiced, sputtering Hudson 
Bay titmice. Their clamor was continuous. 
When they saw me, they moved about and 
scolded at me somewhat. I closely scrutinized 
the tree which seemed to be the focus of their 
wrath. A dark brown object projected from 
the shelter of the trunk. It twitched. I wrig¬ 
gled on a foot or two more, and as I did so a 
strange little face peered around the tree-trunk, 
and wild, yellow eyes glared at me from a white 
face framed in a chocolate brown hood. I 
fairly held my breath and half closed my eyes 
while the tiny owl stared at me. Slowly he 
