Nor till I had pulled
him forth by one wing, rather rudely, did he abandon his trick of
simulated sleep or death. Then, like a detected pickpocket, he was
suddenly transformed into another creature. His eyes flew wide open,
his talons clutched my finger, his ears were depressed, and every
motion and look said, "Hands off, at your peril." Finding this game
did not work, he soon began to "play 'possum " again. I put a cover
over my study wood-box and kept him captive for a week. Look in upon
him any time, night or day, and he was apparently wrapped in the
profoundest slumber; but the live mice which I put into his box from
time to time found his sleep was easily broken; there would be a sudden
rustle in the box, a faint squeak, and then silence. After a week of
captivity I gave him his freedom in the full sunshine: no trouble for
him to see which way and where to go.
Just at dusk in the winter nights, I often hear his soft bur-r-r-r,
very pleasing and bell-like. What a furtive, woody sound it is in the
winter stillness, so unlike the harsh scream of the hawk.
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