“A screech-owl,” whispered her father. “Keep still a moment and I will see if I can call it.” He imitated the sound perfectly and again the bird swooped directly across his face, snapping its beak, while a second owl appeared a little farther on and began the same tactics with Anne.
Anne tried to call and was so successful that she soon had to put her arms above her head to protect her face, the birds grew so bold.
“They must have a nest near by,” said her father; “they are teaching the young to fly, and we are interrupting their signalling.”
“Look, do look!” whispered Anne. “Oh, the dear little fluffy thing, it’s cuter than a kitten or a puppy,” and there among the pine branches in the moon path, directly on a line with her nose, perched a baby screech-owl, its little slant-wise eyes tightly closed.
Anne put up her hand to take it, but a screech-owl, like a weasel asleep, is a deceptive thing. Six claws fastened themselves in her flesh,—claws barbed like fish-hooks and of surprising strength. She tried to drop the baby, but it wouldn’t let go, and her father had to pry its grip off with a stick; but the pain was soon forgotten by the sight of another owl farther up, and then another, until they had counted six of the fuzzy balls in addition to the parents.
Anne, with her handkerchief tied about her hand, protested that it did not pain her, and so the pair stayed for an hour, and watched the play which consisted of signalling, flying, and then the feeding of the young birds as if by way of reward.
Presently Waddles, Happy, and Jack came back, following each other in a straight line through the orchard and across the wall. As they turned into the wild walk, Mamma Owl, at least it was reasonable to suppose it was she, as the females are the most alert when the young are flying, swooped at Waddles who was in the lead, flapped him in the face with a heavy wing, and gave an unearthly screech not a foot from his sensitive ears.
For once Waddles was daunted and sat down suddenly. Mrs. Waddles and Jack being close behind did likewise. The owl gave another scream and a long-drawn shay-shay-shay; but this time instead of frightening Waddles, it seemed to strike the musical note in his soul, and settling firmly on his haunches he threw back his head and began to sing. His lips moved very little but the chords in his throat could be seen to vibrate even by the moonlight.