THE SAW-WHET OWL.
“Whew!” exclaims Bobbie. “Here’s another Owl. I never knew there were so many different species, mamma.”
Mamma smiled at that word “species.” It was a word Bobbie had learned in his study of Birds.
“The Saw-whet Owl,” said she, looking at the picture. “A good looking little fellow, but not handsome as the Snowy Owl in the [June] number of Birds.”
“He was a beauty,” assented Bobbie, “such great yellow eyes looking at you out of a snow bank of feathers. This little fellow’s feet have on black shoes with yellow soles, not white fur overshoes like the Snowy Owl’s.”
“His eyes glow like topaz, though, just as the others did,” said mamma. “Let us see what he says about himself.
“As stupid as an Owl. That’s the way some people talk about us. Then again I’ve heard them say, ‘tough as a b’iled owl.’ B’iled Owls may be tough, I don’t know anything about that, for I have been too shy and wary to be caught.
“I had a neighbor once who was very fond of chickens. He was a Night Owl and said he found it easy to catch them when roosting out at night. Well he caught so many that Mr. Owl grew very fat, and the farmer whose chickens he ate, caught, cooked, and ate him. His flesh, the farmer said, was tender and sweet. So, my little friends, when you want to call anything ‘tough,’ don’t mention the Owl any more.
“A foreigner?