hat
an owl is. For Tommy was an owl. From any dictionary you may ascertain
that an owl is a nocturnal, carnivorous bird, of a short, stout form,
with downy feathers and a large head; and if that does not satisfy you,
there is no lack of books which will furnish fuller and more precise
descriptions.

But descriptions cannot impart acquaintance. I had sought acquaintance
and had gained some knowledge such as books cannot supply, not only of
owls in general, but of that particular species of owls to which Tommy
belonged, who, in the heraldry of ornithology, was _Carine brahma_, an
Indian spotted owlet. This branch of the ancient family of owls has
always been eccentric. It does not mope and to the moon complain. It
flouts the moon and the sun and everyone who passes by, showing its
round face at its door and even coming out, at odd times of the day, to
stare and bob and play the clown. It does not cry "Tuwhoo, Tuwhoo," as
the poets would have it, but laughs, jabbers, squeaks and chants
clamorous duets with its spouse.

All this I knew. I had also gathered from his public appearances that a
spotted owlet is happy in his domestic life and that he is fond of fat
white ants, for, when their winged swarms were flying, I had seen him
making short flights from his perch in a tree and catching them with his
feet; and I believed that he fed in secret on mice and lizards. But all
that did not amount to understanding an owl, as I discovered when Tommy
became a member of our chummery.

Tommy was born in "the second city of the British Empire," to wit,
Bombay, in the month of March, 1901. His birthplace was a hole in an old
"Coral" tree. Domestic life in that hole was not conducted with
regularity. Meals were at uncertain hours and uncertain also in their
quantity and quality. The parents were hunters and were absent for long
periods, and though there was incredible shouting and laughter when they
returned, they came at such irregular times that we did not suspect that
they were permanent residents and had a family. One night, however,
Tommy, being precocious and, as we discovered afterwards, keen on seeing
life, took advantage of parental absence to clamber to the entrance of
the nursery and, losing his balance, toppled over into the garden. He
kept cool, however, and tried to conceal himself, but Hurree the malee,
watering the plants early in the morning, spied him lying with his face
on the earth and brought him to us.

He seem