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We once had an owl living in our house.  He belonged to my young brother, who caught him in a trap, I believe.  All day long, this solemn little fellow (for he was a small brown one), would sit on the back of a chair, or some such convenient place, and if any of us came near him, he would turn his head and look at us, although he could not see very well in the day-time; and if we walked behind him, or on different sides of him, he would always keep his eyes on us, turning his head around exactly as if it was set on a pivot.

It was astonishing how easily he could turn his head without moving his body.  Some folks told us that if we walked around and around him, he would turn and turn his head, until he twisted it off, but we never tried that.

It was really astonishing how soon the mice found out that there was an owl in the house.  He had the range of a great part of the house all night, and in a very short time he had driven every mouse away.  And the first time he found a window open, he went away himself.  There is that objection to owls, as mousers.  They are very good so long as they will hold the situation, but they are exceedingly apt to leave without giving the family any notice.  You won’t find a cat doing that.  The trouble with her very often is that she will not go when you give her notice to leave.

When we speak of our feathered friends, it is hardly fair to exclude all but those which are domesticated with us, or which are willing, sometimes, to come and live in our houses.  In the country, and very often in towns, our homes are surrounded, at certain seasons, by beautiful birds, that flutter and twitter about in the trees, and sing most charmingly in the bright hours of the early morning, making the spring-time and the summer tenfold more delightful than they would be without them.  These birds ask nothing of us but a few cherries or berries now and then, and they pay well for these by picking up the worms and grubs from our gardens.

I think that these little warblers and twitterers, who fill the air with their songs and frolic about on the trees and bushes, who build their nests under our eaves and in any little box that we may put up for them, who come regularly back to us every spring, although they may have been hundreds of miles away during the cold weather, and who have chosen, of their own accord, to live around our houses and to sing in our trees and bushes, ought to be called our friends, as much as the fowls in our poultry-yards.

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IN A WELL.