Free Lucifer Before Sunrise by Henry Williamson

brought to the door by a ‘little old totty boy’. Apparently this child (aged about five years) had found the object under a brambleberry bush in the lane.
    “His father and mother,” said Jonathan (also five years old) pointing at the object, “lost it—so the little old totty boy brought it to here, because they say you like owls.”
    “But it is warm and comfortably covered with flesh,” Phillip replied, holding the creature in his hands, “so it could not have been lost very long. I expect its parents knew it was there, and will miss it to-night.”
    “The little boys do so want to keep it, and have a tame owl,” said Lucy.
    “You know, Dad!” said David, brightly, “like your little old totty owl you used to tell us about, when you were a boy.”
    The owlet raised its long thin head and chirruped. It was the hunger noise. Its beak opened and it tried to swallow his finger when he stroked its head.
    There was an air-rifle in the cupboard, and some sparrows on the ridge-tiles of the farmhouse roof. Jonathan and Phillip went out to stalk them. Not long afterwards they returned, and one of the sparrows went, piece by piece, into the owlet’s crop. When they went back for more the sparrows, which had meanwhile re-formed their row on the ridge-tiles, took immediate evasive action into the unseen road below. Thereafter they were never about on theirPasschendaele ridge more than half a second after the barrel of the rifle had appeared, although many a small lead-splash was left on the tiles just after legs and tail-feathers had gone from view.
    “Huh, wise guys,” murmured David, having watched several such boss-shots. He waited with a catapult round the gateway, but the small piece of chalk flipped from his feeble engine sped through the air even more harmlessly than Phillip’s air-rifle slugs.
    From the parlour window, beyond the garden and its dominating walnut-tree, there was a view of the Home Hills rising steeply to the skyline. On the hills were many rabbits, which tunnelled their deep buries in the sandy southern slopes. Farmers did not like rabbits; they were vermin; they pared grasses and corn with rodent teeth, their urine poisoned the soil. Whereas sheep will improve a pasture, rabbits will slowly destroy it. So fitting together his light Gallyon twenty-bore shot-gun, he set out to get one of the hopping grey animals which, at evening, were visible in many places on the grassy slopes of the Home Hills.
    It was easy the first night; but on succeeding occasions the rabbits grew warier. Sometimes it was dusk before he returned. He had taken on another job; after working all day he had to force reluctance aside and go shoot a rabbit every night. However, it was something to be greeted by a fluffy little creature with its mad stare, and the enthusiasm of his youngest child, Jonathan.
    Hooly grew rapidly. As the black Wellington bombers began to drone in the twilight sky on their way over the North Sea, Hooly was on the roof ridge, awaiting his return. Creeping round the wall slowly, he might observe, before the owlet saw him, a small monkey-like object walking in silhouette, setting one clawed foot before the other, carefully—until suddenly round dark eyes scrutinised him; feathers, beak and gaiter’d legs slithered down the pantiles: and a maniac was upon his shoulder, flapping and screaming for food.
    By this time Hooly knew the way about most of the lower rooms of the farmhouse. From the first he had slept happily in the hot-cupboard in the kitchen, always in his basket, accepting all he saw, without fear. When tired of playing in the flower-beds outside in the garden he would walk into the kitchen, cross the floor with his monkey-like walk, climb into his basket and, stretching legs out behind his body, lie flat, head bowed and face hidden. If one or other of the children touched the grey feathers of his head, beside the large cavities of the ears, he would not look up, but give a sleepy chirrup,