“The belfry-owl, also known as the barn-owl, is an ungainly bird rather smaller than the howlet. Its plumage, however, is not wanting in elegance, being red on the back, sprinkled with gray and brown and prettily dotted with white points alternating with dark ones, and white underneath, with or without brown spots. The eyes are deep-set and each is encircled by a ring of fine white feathers almost like hair. A little collar bordered with red frames the face. The beak is whitish, and the claws are covered only with a soft white down, very short, under which the pink flesh can be seen. This bird has none of the proud bearing of the eagle-owl and the red owl; it carries itself awkwardly with an embarrassed, almost shamefaced look. Humpbacked and with wings hanging down, face sad and scowling, and legs long and ungainly—such is the barn-owl’s appearance in repose. As if to complete its ungraceful attitude, the bird, whenever anything disturbs it, teeters from side to side in a ludicrous fashion, with haggard eyes and wings slightly raised.” “And what is the teetering for?” asked Jules. “No doubt to frighten its enemy. In time of danger the barn-owl utters a harsh, grating cry—craa! craa! craa!—which often frightens away the enemy. The owl’s habitual cry in the silence of the night is a mournful, heavy breathing not unlike the snoring of a man sleeping with his mouth open. To these cries add the darkness of the night, the near neighborhood of churches and cemeteries, and you will understand how the innocent barn-owl has managed to frighten children, women, and even men; you will be able to see why it has the reputation of being a funeral bird, the bird of death, summoning to the cemetery one of the persons living in the house it visits. The French name, effraie (fright), has reference to these superstitious terrors; it designates the bird that frightens with its nightly chant those who are foolish enough to believe in ghosts and sorcerers.” “It may practise its chant on our roof as much as it likes,” Jules declared boldly; “it won’t scare me a bit.” “Nor would it scare any one else if everybody would listen to reason instead of putting faith in ridiculous stories. Fear, like cruelty, is the daughter of ignorance. Train your reason, accustom yourselves to see things as they really are, and foolish fears will be banished.