Failing to get the mouse,
the owl returned swiftly to his cavity, and ever since, while going
that way, I have been on the lookout for him. Dozens of teams and
foot-passengers pass him late in the day, but he regards them not, nor
they him. When I come alone and pause to salute him, he opens his eyes
a little wider, and, appearing to recognize me, quickly shrinks and
fades into the background of his door in a very weird and curious
manner. When he is not at his outlook, or when he is, it requires the
best powers of the eye to decide the point, as the empty cavity itself
is almost an exact image of him. If the whole thing had been carefully
studied it could not have answered its purpose better. The owl stands
quite perpendicular, presenting a front of light mottled gray; the eyes
are closed to a mere slit, the ear-feathers depressed, the beak buried
in the plumage, and the whole attitude is one of silent, motionless
waiting and observation. If a mouse should be seen crossing the
highway, or scudding over any exposed part of the snowy surface in the
twilight, the owl would doubtless swoop down upon it.
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