forest wall there came the soughing of the wind and the
nocturnal rustle of things unknown. And suddenly there
came from close at hand a startling sound: a clarion call
that tore the veil lying over my mental vision: the sharp,
repeated whistle of the whip-poor-will. And with my mind's
eye I saw the dusky bird: shooting slantways upward in
its low flight which ends in a nearly perpendicular slide
down to within ten or twelve feet from the ground, the
bird being closely followed by a second one pursuing. In
reality I did not see the birds, but I heard the fast
whir of their wings.

Another bird I saw but did not hear. It was a small owl.
The owl's flight is too silent, its wing is down-padded.
You may hear its beautiful call, but you will not hear
its flight, even though it circle right around your head
in the dusk. This owl crossed my path not more than an
inch or two in front. It nearly grazed my forehead, so
that I blinked. Oh, how I felt reassured! I believe,
tears welled in my eyes. When I come to the home of frog
and toad, of gartersnake and owl and whip-poor-will, a
great tenderness takes possession of me, and I should
like to shield and help them all and tell them not to be
afraid of me; but I rather think they know it anyway.

The road swung north, and then east again; we skirted
the woods; we came to the bridge; it turned straight
north; the horse fell into a walk. I felt that henceforth
I could rely on my sense of orientation to find the road.
It was pitch dark in the bush--the thin slice of the moon