our tired head
would sink down between your legs, your feathers would be wet with
perspiration and you'd be so tired you'd hardly be able to hang on to
the tree."

Came again the lonesome hoot of the owl, spreading like a sinister omen
through the forest. It made Harry angry, and, raising himself up a
little, he shook his fist again at the figure on the branch, now growing
clearer in outline.

"'Bird or devil?'" he quoted.

The owl hooted once more, the strange ominous cry carrying far in the
silence of the night.

"Devil it is," said Harry, "and quoth your evil majesty 'never more.'
I won't be scared by a big owl playing the part of the raven. It's not
'nevermore' with me. I've many a good day ahead and don't you dare tell
me I haven't."

Came the solemn and changeless hoot of the owl in reply.

Harry's exertions and excitement had brought too much blood to his head
and he was seeing red. He raised himself upon his elbows and stared
at the owl which stared back from red rimmed eyes, cold, emotionless,
implacable. He had been terribly shaken, and now a superstitious fright
overcame him. The raven and the albatross were in his mind and he
murmured under his breath passages from their ominous poems. The scholar
had his raven, the mariner had his albatross and now he alone in the
forest had his owl, to his mind the most terrible bird of the three.

Came again that solemn and warning cry, the most depressing of all in the
wilderness, while the changeless and sinister eyes stared steadily at
him. Then Harry remembered that he had a rifle, and he sat up. He would
slay this winged monster. There was light enough for him to draw a bead,
and he was too good a marksman to miss.

He dropped the muzzle of the rifle in a sudden access of fear as he
remembered the albatross. A shiver ran through every nerve and muscle,
and so heavily was he oppressed that he felt as if he had just escaped
committing murder. He rubbed his hand across his damp forehead and the
act brought him out of that dim world in which he had been living for the
last ten or fifteen minutes.

"Bird of whatever omen you may be, I'll not shoot you. That's certain,"
he said, "but I'll leave you to your melancholy predictions just as soon
as I can."

He stood up somewhat unsteadily, and renewed the descent of the slope.
Near its foot he came to a brook and bathing his face plentifully in the
cool water he felt wonderfully refreshed. All his st