Old Duperow's rooster was a foolish bird and always crowed himself hoarse when the moon was bright.

And in front of him, not far away, were two white, lightning-shriven spruce stubs standing like ghosts in the night.

In one of these a pair of owls had nested, and Kent listened to the queer, chuckling notes of their honeymooning and the flutter of their wings as they darted out now and then in play close to his window.

And then suddenly he heard the sharp snap of their beaks.

An enemy was prowling near, and the owls were giving warning.