at me fiercely,
apparently charging the whole catastrophe to me.

We had strong proof the previous season that an owl, probably the
screech owl, prowled about the house at night. A statuette of myself in
clay which a sculptor was modeling was left out one night on the porch,
and in the morning its head was unusually bowed. The prints of a bird's
talons upon the top told what had happened. In the bronze reproduction
of that statuette the head has more of a droop than the artist at first
planned to give it.

The next season the bluebirds occupied the cavity in the birch limb
again, but before my arrival in July the owls had again cleaned them
out. In so doing they had ripped the cavity open nearly to the bottom.
For all that, early the following May bluebirds were occupying the
cavity again. It held three eggs when I arrived. I looked over the
situation and resolved to try to head off the owl this time, even at the
risk of driving the bluebirds away. I took a strip of tin several inches
wide and covered the slit with it and wired it fast. Then I obtained a
broad strip of dry birch-bark, wrapped it about the limb over the tin,
and wired it fast, leaving the entrance to the nest in its original
form. I knew the owl could not slit the tin; the birch-bark would hide
it and preserve in a measure the natural appearance of the branch. When
the bluebirds saw what had happened to their abode, they were a good
deal distressed; they could no longer see their eggs through the slit
which the owl had made, and they refused to enter the cavity. They hung
about all day, uttering despondent notes, approaching the nest at times,
but hesitating even to alight upon the roof above it. Occasionally the
female would fly away toward the distant woods or hills uttering that
plaintive, homesick note which seemed to mean farewell. The male would
follow her, calling in a more cheery and encouraging tone. Once the
couple were gone three or four hours, and I concluded they had really
deserted the place. But just before sundown they were back again, and
the female alighted at the entrance to the nest and looked in. The male
called to her cheerily; still she would not enter, but joined him on the
telephone wire, where the two seemed to hold a little discussion.
Presently the mother bird flew to the nest again, then to the roof above
it, then back to the nest, and entered it till only her tail showed,
then flew back to the wire beside her mate. She was