glimmer white in the wind at times. The tree was full of giant birds. Every now and then, one would sweep through, with a great noise. But, except an occasional chirp, sounding like a shrill pipe in a great organ, they made no noise. All at once an owl began to hoot. He thought he was singing. As soon as he began, other birds replied, making rare game of him. To their astonishment, the children found they could understand every word they sang. And what they sang was something like this:—
“I will sing a song. I’m the Owl.” “Sing a song, you Singsong Ugly fowl! What will you sing about, Night in and Day out?”
“Sing about the night; I’m the Owl.” “You could not see for the light, Stupid fowl.” “Oh! the Moon! and the Dew! And the Shadows!—tu-whoo!”
The owl spread out his silent, soft, sly wings, and lighting between Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob, nearly smothered them,