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The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter XIII THE LUCKY GUEST

Chapter XIII THE LUCKY GUEST

In the middle of the day Solomon Owl happened to awake. He was sorry that he hadn’t slept until sunset, because he was very hungry. Knowing that it was light outside his hollow tree, he didn’t want to leave home to find something to eat.

Then, suddenly, he remembered that he had brought Benjamin Bat to his house early that morning, so Benjamin might escape the storm…. Why not eat Benjamin Bat?

As soon as the thought occurred to him, Solomon Owl liked it. And he moved stealthily over to the bed of leaves he had made for his guest just before daybreak.

But Benjamin Bat was not there. Though Solomon looked in every nook and cranny of his one-room house, he did not find him.

“He must have left as soon as it stopped raining,” said Solomon Owl to himself. “He might at least have waited to thank me for giving him a day’s lodging. It’s the last time I’ll ever bring any worthless vagabond into my house. And I ought to have known better than to have anything to do with a crazy person like Benjamin Bat.”

Anybody can see that Solomon Owl was displeased. But it was not at all astonishing, if one stops to remember how hungry he was, and that he had expected to enjoy a good meal without the trouble of going away from home to get it.

Solomon Owl went to the door of his house and looked out. The sun was shining so brightly that after blinking in his doorway for a few minutes he decided that he would go to bed again and try to sleep until dusk. He never liked bright days. “They’re so dismal!” he used to say. “Give me a good, dark night and I’m happy, for there’s nothing more cheering than gloom.”

In spite of the pangs of hunger that gnawed inside him, Solomon at last succeeded in falling asleep once more. And he dreamed that he chased Benjamin Bat three times around Blue Mountain, and then three times back again, in the opposite direction. But he never could catch him, because Benjamin Bat simply wouldn’t fly straight. His zigzag course was so confusing that even in his dream Solomon Owl grew dizzy.

Now, Benjamin Bat was in Solomon’s house all the time. And the reason why Solomon Owl hadn’t found him was a very simple one. It was merely that Solomon hadn’t looked in the right place.

Benjamin Bat was hidden–as you might say–where his hungry host never once thought of looking for him. And being asleep all the while, Benjamin didn’t once move or make the slightest noise.

If he had snored, or sneezed, or rustled his wings, no doubt Solomon Owl would have found him.
When Benjamin awakened, late in the afternoon, Solomon was still sleeping. And Benjamin crept through the door and went out into the gathering twilight, without arousing Solomon.

“I’ll thank him the next time I meet him,” Benjamin Bat decided. And he staggered away through the air as if he did not quite know, himself, where he was going. But, of course, that was only his queer way of flying.

When he told his friends where he had spent the day they were astonished.

“How did you ever dare do anything so dangerous as sleeping in Solomon Owl’s house?” they all asked him.

But Benjamin Bat only said, “Oh! There was nothing to be afraid of.” And he began to feel quite important.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter XII BENJAMIN BAT

Chapter XII BENJAMIN BAT

Solomon Owl was by no means the only night-prowler in Pleasant Valley. He had neighbors that chose to sleep in the daytime, so they might roam through the woods and fields after dark. One of these was Benjamin Bat. And furthermore, he was the color of night itself.

Now, Benjamin Bat was an odd chap. When he was still he liked to hang by his feet, upside down. And when he was flying he sailed about in a zigzag, helter-skelter fashion. He went in so many different directions, turning this way and that, one could never tell where he was going. One might say that his life was just one continual dodge–when he wasn’t resting with his heels where his head ought to be.

A good many of Benjamin Bat’s friends said he certainly must be crazy, because he didn’t do as they did. But that never made the slightest difference in Benjamin Bat’s habits. He continued to zigzag through life–and hang by his heels–just the same. Perhaps he thought that all other people were crazy because they didn’t do likewise.

Benjamin often dodged across Solomon Owl’s path, when Solomon was hunting for field mice. And since Benjamin was the least bit like a mouse himself–except for his wings–there was a time, once, when Solomon tried to catch him.

But Solomon Owl soon found that chasing Benjamin Bat made him dizzy. If Benjamin hadn’t been used to hanging head downward, maybe he would have been dizzy, too.

Though the two often saw each other, Benjamin Bat never seemed to care to stop for a chat with Solomon Owl. One night, however, Benjamin actually called to Solomon and asked his advice. He was in trouble. And he knew that Solomon Owl was supposed by some to be the wisest old fellow for miles around.

It was almost morning. And Solomon Owl was hurrying home, because a terrible storm had arisen. The lightning was flashing, and peals of thunder crashed through the woods. Big drops of rain were already pattering down. But Solomon Owl did not care, for he had almost reached his house in the hollow hemlock near the foot of Blue Mountain.

It was different with Benjamin Bat. That night he had strayed a long distance from his home in Cedar Swamp. And he didn’t know what to do. “I want to get under cover, somewhere,” he told Solomon Owl. “You don’t know of a good place near-by, do you, where I can get out of the storm and take a nap?”

“Why, yes!” answered Solomon Owl. “Come right along to my house and spend the day with me!”

But Benjamin Bat did not like the suggestion at all.

“I’m afraid I might crowd, you,” he said. He was thinking of the time when Solomon Owl had chased him. And sleeping in Solomon Owl’s house seemed far from a safe thing to do.

Solomon was wise enough to guess what was going on inside Benjamin’s head.

“Come along!” he said. “We’ll both be asleep before we know it. I’m sorry I can’t offer you something to eat. But I haven’t a morsel of food in my house. No doubt, though, you’ve just had a good meal. I ate seven mice tonight. And I certainly couldn’t eat anything more.”

When Solomon Owl told him that, Benjamin Bat thought perhaps there was no danger, after all. And since the rain was falling harder and harder every moment, he thanked Solomon and said he would be glad to accept his invitation.

“Follow me, then!” said Solomon Owl. And he led the way to his home in the hemlock.

For once, Benjamin Bat flew in a fairly straight line, though he did a little dodging, because he couldn’t help it.

There was more room inside Solomon’s house than Benjamin Bat had supposed. While Benjamin was looking about and telling Solomon that he had a fine home, his host quickly made a bed of leaves in one corner of the room–there was only one room, of course.

“That’s for you!” said Solomon Owl. “I always sleep on the other side of the house.” And without waiting even to make sure that his guest was comfortable, Solomon Owl lay down and began to snore–for he was very sleepy.

It was so cozy there that Benjamin Bat was glad, already, that he had accepted Solomon’s invitation.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter XI CURED AT LAST

Chapter XI CURED AT LAST

“How do you feel now?” Aunt Polly Woodchuck asked Solomon Owl, when he had come back to her house after a week’s absence.

“No better!” he groaned. “I still have pains. But they seem to have moved and scattered all over me.”

“Good!” she exclaimed with a smile. “You are much better, though you didn’t know it. The wishbone is broken. You broke it by flying against the trees. And you ought not to have any more trouble. But let me examine you!” she said, prodding him in the waistcoat once more.

“This is odd!” she continued a bit later. “I can feel the wishbone more plainly than ever.”

“That’s my own wishbone!” Solomon cried indignantly. “I’ve grown so thin through not eating that it’s a wonder you can’t feel my backbone, too.”

Aunt Polly Woodchuck looked surprised.

“Perhaps you’re right!” said she. “Not having a wishbone of my own, I forgot that you had one.”

A look of disgust came over Solomon Owl’s face.

“You’re a very poor doctor,” he told her. “Here you’ve kept me from eating for a whole week–and I don’t believe it was necessary at all!”

“Well, you’re better, aren’t you?” she asked him.

“I shall be as soon as I have a good meal,” replied Solomon Owl, hopefully.

“You ought not to eat anything for another week,” Aunt Polly told him solemnly.

“Nonsense!” he cried.

“I’m a doctor; and I ought to know best,” she insisted.

But Solomon Owl hooted rudely.

“I’ll never come to you for advice any more,” he declared. “I firmly believe that my whole trouble was simply that I’ve been eating too sparingly. And I shall take good care to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

No one had ever spoken to Aunt Polly in quite that fashion–though old Mr. Crow had complained one time that she had cured him too quickly. But she did not lose her temper, in spite of Solomon’s jeers.

“You’ll be back here again the very next time you’re ill,” she remarked. “And if you continue to swallow your food whole—-”

But Solomon Owl did not even wait to hear what she said. He was so impolite that he flew away while she was talking. And since it was then almost dark, and a good time to look for field mice, he began his night’s hunting right there in Farmer Green’s pasture.

By morning Solomon was so plump that Aunt Polly Woodchuck would have had a good deal of trouble finding his wishbone. But since he did not visit her again, she had no further chance to prod him in the waistcoat.

Afterward, Solomon heard a bit of gossip that annoyed him. A friend of his reported that Aunt Polly Woodchuck was going about and telling everybody how she had saved Solomon’s life.

“Mice!” he exclaimed (he often said that when some would have said “Rats!”). “There’s not a word of truth in her claim. And if people in this neighborhood keep on taking her advice and her catnip tea they’re going to be sorry someday. For they’ll be really ill the first thing they know. And then what will they do?”

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter X A TROUBLESOME WISHBONE

Chapter X A TROUBLESOME WISHBONE

Solomon Owl had pains–sharp pains–underneath his waistcoat. And not knowing what else to do, he set off at once for Aunt Polly Woodchuck’s house under the hill, in the pasture, which he had not visited since the previous fall. Luckily, he found the old lady at home. And quickly he told her of his trouble.

“What have you been eating?” she inquired.

“I’ve followed your advice. I’ve been eating chickens,” said he–“very small chickens, because they were all I could get.”

Aunt Polly Woodchuck, who was an herb doctor–and a good one–regarded him through her spectacles.

“I’m afraid,” said she, “you don’t chew your food properly. Bolting one’s food is very harmful. It’s as bad as not eating anything at all, almost.”

Solomon Owl showed plainly that her remark surprised him.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “I always swallow my food whole–when it isn’t too big!”

“Gracious me!” cried Aunt Polly, throwing up both her hands. “It’s no wonder you’re ill. It’s no wonder you have pains; and now I know exactly what’s the matter with you. You have a wishbone inside you. I can feel it!” she told him, as she prodded him in the waistcoat.

“I wish you could get it out for me!” said Solomon with a look of distress.

“All the wishing in the world won’t help you,” she answered, “unless we can find some way of removing the wishbone so you can wish on that. Then I’m sure you would feel better at once.”

“This is strange,” Solomon mused. “All my life I’ve been swallowing my food without chewing it. And it has never given me any trouble before….What shall I do?”

“Don’t eat anything for a week,” she directed. “And fly against tree-trunks as hard as you can. Then come back here after seven days.”

Solomon Owl went off in a most doleful frame of mind. It seemed to him that he had never seen so many mice and frogs and chipmunks as he came across during the following week. But he didn’t dare catch a single one, on account of what Aunt Polly Woodchuck had said.

His pains, however, grew less from day to day–at least, the pains that had first troubled him. But he had others to take their place. Hunger pangs, these were! And they were almost as bad as those that had sent him hurrying to see Aunt Polly Woodchuck.

On the whole, Solomon passed a very unhappy week. Flying head foremost into tree-trunks (as Aunt Polly had instructed him to do) gave him many bumps and bruises. So he was glad when the time came for him to return to her house in the pasture.

Solomon’s neighbors had been so interested in watching him that they were all sorry when he ceased his strange actions. Indeed, there was a rumor that Solomon had become very angry with Farmer Green and that he was trying to knock down some of Farmer Green’s trees. Before the end of that unpleasant week Solomon had often noticed as many as twenty-four of the forest folk following him about, hoping to see a tree fall.

But they were all disappointed. However, they enjoyed the sight of Solomon hurling himself against tree-trunks. And the louder he groaned, the more people gathered around him.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter IX HALLOWEEN

Chapter IX HALLOWEEN
(There are no content issues with this chapter despite the title.)

Solomon Owl was afraid of fire. And when he looked down from his perch in the tree and saw, through the hole in the stranger’s crown, that all was aglow inside his big, round head, Solomon couldn’t help voicing his horror. He “whoo-whooed” so loudly that Tommy Fox, at the foot of the tree, asked him what on earth was the matter.

“His head’s all afire!” Solomon Owl told him. “That’s what makes his eyes glare so. And that’s why the fire shines through his mouth and his nose, too. It’s no wonder he didn’t answer my question–for, of course, his tongue must certainly be burned to a cinder.”

“Then it ought to be safe for anybody to enter the chicken house,” Tommy Fox observed. “What could the stranger do, when he’s in such a fix?”

“He could set the chicken house afire, if he followed you inside,” replied Solomon Owl wisely. “And I, for one, am not going near the pullets to-night.”

“Nor I!” Fatty Coon echoed. “I’m going straight to the cornfield. The corn is still standing there in shocks; and I ought to find enough ears to make a good meal.”

But Solomon Owl and Tommy Fox were not interested in corn. They never ate it. And so it is not surprising that they should be greatly disappointed. After a person has his mouth all made up for chicken it is hard to think of anything that would taste even half as good.

“It’s queer he doesn’t go and hold his head under the pump,” said Solomon Owl. “That’s what I should do, if I were he.”

“Jimmy Rabbit had better not go too near him, or he’ll get singed,” said Tommy Fox, anxiously. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Jimmy Rabbit is very careless,” Solomon declared. “I don’t see what he’s thinking of–going so near a fire! It makes me altogether too nervous to stay here. And I’m going away at once.”

Tommy Fox said that he felt the same way. And the moment Fatty Coon, with his sharp claws, started to crawl down the tree on his way to the cornfield, Tommy Fox hurried off without even stopping to say good-bye.

“Haw-haw-hoo!” laughed Solomon Owl. “Tommy Fox is afraid of you!” he told Fatty Coon.
But Fatty didn’t seem to hear him. He was thinking only of the supper of corn that he was going to have.
“Better come away!” Solomon Owl called to Jimmy Rabbit, turning his head toward the fence where Jimmy had been lingering near the hot-headed stranger.

But Jimmy Rabbit didn’t answer him, either. He was no longer there. The moment he had seen Tommy Fox bounding off across the meadow Jimmy had started at once for Farmer Green’s vegetable garden.

So Solomon Owl was the last to leave.

“There’s really nothing else I can do,” he remarked to himself. “I don’t know what Aunt Polly Woodchuck would say if she knew that I didn’t follow her advice to-night and eat a pullet for my supper…. But I’ve tried my best…. And that’s all anybody can do.”

Solomon Owl was upset all the rest of that night. And just before daybreak he visited the farmyard again, to see whether the strange man with the flaring head still watched the chicken house. And Solomon found that he had vanished.

So Solomon Owl alighted on the fence. There was nothing there except a hollowed-out pumpkin, with a few holes cut in it, which someone had left on one of the fence-posts.

“Good!” said he. “Maybe I can get my pullet after all!” He turned to fly to the chicken house. But just then the woodshed door opened again. And Farmer Green stepped outside, with a lantern in his hand. He was going to the barn to milk the cows. But Solomon Owl did not wait to learn anything more.

He hurried away to his house among the hemlocks. And having quickly settled himself for a good nap, he was soon fast asleep.

That was how Johnnie Green’s jack-o’-lantern kept Tommy Fox and Fatty Coon and Solomon Owl from taking any chickens on Halloween.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter VIII WATCHING THE CHICKENS

Chapter VIII WATCHING THE CHICKENS

Solomon Owl and Fatty Coon couldn’t help laughing at what Tommy Fox said to them, as they sat in their tree near the farmhouse, looking down at him in the moonlight.

“I’m here to watch Farmer Green’s chickens for him–” said he–“to see that no rat–or anybody else–runs away with a pullet.”

“Farmer Green has someone else watching for him to-night,” said Solomon Owl, when he had stopped laughing. “There’s that strange man! You can see how he keeps his glaring eyes fixed on the chicken house. And unless I’m mistaken, he’s on the lookout for you.”

“No such thing!” Tommy Fox snapped. And he looked up at Solomon as if he wished that he could climb the tree.

“Here comes somebody else!” Fatty Coon exclaimed suddenly. His keen eyes had caught sight of Jimmy Rabbit, hopping along on his way to the vegetable garden, to see if he couldn’t find a stray cabbage or a turnip.

Solomon Owl called to him. Whereupon, Jimmy Rabbit promptly sat up and looked at the odd trio. If it hadn’t been for Tommy Fox he would have drawn nearer.

“Do you know that stranger?” Solomon Owl asked him, pointing out the horrible head to Jimmy.

“I haven’t the pleasure,” said Jimmy Rabbit, after he had taken a good look.

“Well,” said Solomon, “won’t you kindly speak to him; and ask him to go away?”

“Certainly!” answered Jimmy Rabbit, who always tried to be obliging.

“I hope the stranger won’t eat him,” remarked Tommy Fox, “because I hope to do that some day, myself.”

It was queer–but Jimmy Rabbit was the only one of the four that wasn’t afraid of those glaring features. He hopped straight up to the big round head, which was just a bit higher than one of the fence posts, against which the stranger seemed to be leaning. And after a moment or two Jimmy Rabbit called to Solomon and Fatty and Tommy Fox: “He won’t go away! He’s going to stay right where he is!”

“Come here a minute!” said Tommy.

Jimmy Rabbit shook his head.

“You come over here!” he answered. And he did not stir from the side of the stranger. He knew very well that Tommy Fox was afraid of the man with the head with the glaring eyes.

As for Tommy Fox, he did not even reply–that is, to Jimmy Rabbit. But he spoke his mind freely enough to his two friends in the tree.

“It seems to me one of you ought to do something,” said he. “We’ll eat no pullets tonight if we can’t get rid of this meddlesome stranger.”

Fatty Coon quite agreed with him.

“The one who was here first is the one to act!” Fatty declared. “That’s you!” he told Solomon Owl.

So Solomon Owl felt most uncomfortable.

“I don’t know what I can do,” he said. “I spoke to the stranger–asked him who he was. And he wouldn’t answer me.”

“Can’t you frighten him away?” Tommy Fox inquired. “Fly right over his head and give him a blow with your wing as you pass!”

Solomon Owl coughed. He was embarrassed, to say the least.
“He’s afraid!” Fatty Coon cried. And both he and Tommy Fox kept repeating, over and over again, “He’s afraid! He’s afraid! He’s afraid!”

It was really more than Solomon Owl could stand.

“I’m not!” he retorted angrily. “Watch me and you’ll see!” And without another word he darted out of the tree and swooped down upon the stranger, just brushing the top of his head. Solomon Owl knew at once that he had knocked something off the top of that dreadful head–something that fell to the ground and made Jimmy Rabbit jump nervously.

Then Solomon returned to his perch in the tree. “He hasn’t moved,” he said. “But I knocked off his hat.”

“You took off the top of his head!” cried Fatty Coon in great excitement. “Look! The inside of his head is afire.” And peering down from the tree-top, Solomon Owl saw that Fatty Coon had told the truth.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter VII THE BLAZING EYES

Chapter VII THE BLAZING EYES

It was some three hours after sunset when Solomon Owl at last reached Farmer Green’s place. All was quiet in the chicken house because the hens and roosters and their families had long since gone to roost. And except for a light that shone through a window, the farmhouse showed not a sign of life.

Everything was as Solomon Owl wished it–or so he thought, at least, as he alighted in a tree in the yard to look about him. He wanted no one to interrupt him when he should go nosing around the chicken house, to find an opening.

To his annoyance, he had not sat long in the tree when the woodshed door opened. And Solomon stared in amazement at the strange sight he saw.

A great head appeared, with eyes and mouth–yes! and nose, too–all a glaring flame color. Solomon had never seen such a horrible face on man or bird or beast. But he was sure it was a man, for he heard a laugh that was not to be mistaken for either a beast’s or a bird’s. And the worst of it was, those blazing eyes were turned squarely toward Farmer Green’s chicken house!

Solomon Owl was too wary to go for his fat pullet just then. He decided that he would wait quietly in the tree for a time, hoping that the man would go away.

While Solomon watched him the stranger neither moved nor spoke. And, of course, Solomon Owl was growing hungrier every minute. So at last he felt that he simply must say something.

“Who-who-who-are-you?” he called out from his tree.

But the strange man did not answer. He did not even turn his head.

“He must be some city person,” Solomon Owl said to himself. “He thinks he’s too good to speak to a countryman like me.”

Then Solomon sat up and listened. He heard a scratching sound. And soon he saw a plump figure crawl right up into his tree-top.

It was Fatty Coon!

“What are you doing here?” Solomon Owl asked in a low voice, which was not any too pleasant.

“I’m out for an airing,” Fatty answered. “Beautiful night–isn’t it?”

But Solomon Owl was not interested in the weather.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come down here to get a chicken, have you?” he inquired.

Fatty Coon seemed greatly surprised at the question. “Why–no!” he exclaimed. “But now that you speak of it, it reminds me that Farmer Green’s saving a pullet for me. He was heard to say not long ago that he would like to catch me taking one of his hens. So he must have one for me. And I don’t want to disappoint him.”

At first Solomon Owl didn’t know what answer to make. But at last he turned his head toward Fatty.

“Why don’t you go and get your pullet now?” he asked.

“There’s that man down below, with the glaring eyes–” said Fatty Coon. “I’ve been waiting around here for quite a long time and he hasn’t looked away from the chicken house even once…. Do you know him?”

“No! And I don’t want to!” said Solomon Owl.

“S-sh!” Fatty Coon held up a warning hand. “Who’s that?” he asked, peering down at a dark object at the foot of their tree.

Then both he and Solomon saw that it was Tommy Fox, sitting on his haunches and staring at the big head, with its blazing eyes and nose and mouth.

“Not looking for chickens, I suppose?” Solomon Owl called in a low tone, which was hardly more than a whisper.

But Tommy Fox’s sharp ears heard him easily. And he looked up, licking his chops as if he were very hungry indeed. And all the while the stranger continued to stare straight at the chicken house, as if he did not intend to let anybody go prowling about that long, low building to steal any of Farmer Green’s poultry.

It was no wonder that the three chicken-lovers (two in the tree and one beneath it) hesitated. If the queer man had only spoken they might not have been so timid.

But he said never a word.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter VI SOLOMON NEEDS A CHANGE

Chapter VI SOLOMON NEEDS A CHANGE

For some time Solomon Owl had known that a queer feeling was coming over him. And he could not think what it meant. He noticed, too, that his appetite was leaving him. Nothing seemed to taste good any more.

So at last, one fine fall evening he went to see Aunt Polly Woodchuck, who was an herb doctor; for he had begun to worry about his health.

“It’s lucky you came today,” said Aunt Polly. “Because to-night I’m going to begin my winter’s nap. And you couldn’t have seen me again till spring–unless you happened to come here on ground-hog day, next February…. What appears to be your trouble?” she inquired.

“It’s my appetite, partly,” Solomon Owl said. “Nothing tastes as it did when I was a youngster. And I keep longing for something, though what it is I can’t just tell.”

Aunt Polly Woodchuck nodded her head wisely. “What have you been eating lately?” she asked.

Solomon Owl replied that he hadn’t eaten anything but mice since the leaves began to turn.

“Hmm–the leaves are nearly all off the trees now,” the old lady remarked. “How many mice have you eaten in that time?”

Solomon said that as nearly as he could remember he had eaten twenty-seven–or a hundred and twenty-seven. He couldn’t say which–but one of those numbers was correct.

Aunt Polly Woodchuck threw up her hands.
“Sakes alive!” she cried. “It’s no wonder you don’t feel well! What you need is a change of food. And it’s lucky you came to me now. If you’d gone on like that much longer I’d hate to say what might have happened to you. You’d have had dyspepsia, or some other sort of misery in your stomach.”

“What shall I do?” asked Solomon Owl. “Insects are scarce at this season of the year. Of course, there are frogs–but I don’t seem to care for them. And there are fish–but they’re not easy to get, for they don’t come out of the water and sit on the bank, as the frogs do.”

“How about pullets?” Aunt Polly inquired.

At that Solomon Owl let out a long row of hoots because he was pleased.

“The very thing!” he cried. “That’s what I’ve been wanting all this time. And I never guessed it…. I’ll pay you for your advice the next time I see you,” he told Aunt Polly. And Solomon Owl hurried away before she could stop him. Since he had no intention of visiting her on ground-hog day, he knew it would be spring before he saw Aunt Polly Woodchuck again.

The old lady scolded a bit. And it did not make her feel any pleasanter to hear Solomon’s mocking laughter, which grew fainter and fainter as he left the pasture behind him. Then she went inside her house, for she was fast growing sleepy. And she wanted to set things to rights before she began her long winter’s nap.

Meanwhile, Solomon Owl roamed restlessly through the woods. There was only one place in the neighborhood where he could get a pullet. That was at Farmer Green’s chicken house. And for some reason he did not care to visit the farm buildings until it grew darker.

So he amused himself by making the woods echo with his strange cry, “Whoo-whoo-whoo, whoo-whoo, to-whoo-ah!” And now and then he threw in a few “wha-whas,” just for extra measure.

Many of the forest folk who heard him remarked that Solomon Owl seemed to be in extra fine spirits.

“Probably it’s the hunter’s moon that pleases him!” Jimmy Rabbit remarked to a friend of his. “I’ve always noticed that old Solomon makes more noise on moonlight nights than at any other time.”

The hunter’s moon, big and yellow and round, was just rising over Blue Mountain. But for once it was not the moon that made Solomon Owl so talkative. He was in fine feather, so to speak, because he was hoping to have a fat pullet for his supper. And as for the moon, he would have been just as pleased had there been none at all that night. For Solomon Owl never cared to be seen when he visited Farmer Green’s chicken house.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter V THE COLD WEATHER COAT

Chapter V THE COLD WEATHER COAT

Yes! As he held up his new coat and looked at it, Solomon Owl was puzzled. He turned his head toward Mr. Frog and stared at him for a moment. And then he turned his head away from the tailor and gazed upon the coat again.

Mr. Frog was most uncomfortable–especially when Solomon looked at him.
“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” he inquired.

Solomon Owl slowly shook his head.

“This is a queer coat!” he said. “What’s this bag at the top of it?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Frog. “That’s the hood! Knowing that you spend your winters here in Pleasant Valley, I made a hood to go over your head…. You’ll find it very comfortable in cold weather–and it’s the latest style, too. All the winter coats this year will have hoods, with holes to see through, you know.”

Solomon Owl looked relieved at Mr. Frog’s explanation. But there was still something more that appeared to trouble him.

“How shall I get into the coat?” he inquired. “It doesn’t open in front, as it should.”

“Another cold-weather style!” Mr. Frog assured him. “It’s wind-proof! And instead of buttoning the coat, you pull it on over your head.”

Solomon Owl said he didn’t like that style very well.

“Then I can easily change it,” the tailor told him. “But just try it on!” he urged. “It may please you, after all.”
So Solomon Owl pulled the coat over his head. And it fell down about him, almost reaching his feet. But the coat did not seem to suit him at all, for he began to splutter and choke.

“What’s the matter now?” Mr. Frog asked him.

“I can’t see–that’s what’s the matter!” Solomon Owl cried in a voice that sounded hollower than ever, because it was muffled by the hood, which covered his head.

“I declare–I haven’t cut the holes for your eyes!” the tailor exclaimed. “Just wait a moment and I’ll make everything satisfactory.” He clinked his shears together sharply as he spoke.

But Solomon Owl told him that he wouldn’t think of letting anybody use shears so near his eyes.

“I’ll take off the coat,” he said. “And I know now that you’re a very poor tailor, or you wouldn’t have made such a mistake.” He began to tug at the coat. But he soon found that taking it off was not so easy as putting it on. Solomon’s sharp claws caught in the cloth; and his hooked beak, too, fastened itself in the hood the moment he tried to pull the coat over his head. “Here!” he cried to Mr. Frog. “Just lend me a hand! I can’t see to help myself.”

But Mr. Frog did not even answer him.

“Don’t you hear me?” Solomon Owl shouted, as he struggled with his new coat, only to become tangled in it more than ever.

Still, the tailor said never a word, though something very like a giggle, followed by a splash, caught Solomon’s ear.

“He’s left me!” Solomon Owl groaned.

“Mr. Frog has left me to get out of this coat alone. And goodness knows how I’m ever going to do it.”

He threshed about so vigorously that he tripped himself and fell upon the bank of the brook, rolling over and over toward the water.
He had a very narrow escape. If he hadn’t happened to bring up against an old stump he would certainly have tumbled into the stream.

Though Solomon couldn’t see, he knew that he was in danger. So he lay on his back on the ground and carefully tore his new coat into strings and ribbons.

At last he was free. And he rose to his feet feeling very sheepish, for he knew that Mr. Frog had played a sly trick on him.

“Never mind!” said Solomon Owl, as he flew way. “I’ll come back to-morrow and ask Mr. Frog to make me a waistcoat and trousers. And then—-” He did not finish what he was saying. But there is no doubt that whatever it was, it could not have been very pleasant for Mr. Frog.

Just as he had planned, Solomon Owl returned to the brook the next day. And he was both surprised and disappointed at what he found.

The door of Mr. Frog’s tailor’s shop was shut and locked. And on it there was a sign, which said: TO LET. (note: This means it’s for rent.)

“He’s moved away!” cried Solomon Owl. And he went off feeling that he had been cheated out of a good dinner–to say nothing of a new waistcoat—and new trousers, too.

He had not been gone long when the door opened. And Mr. Frog leaped nimbly outside. He took the sign off the door; and sitting down cross-legged upon the bank, he began to sew upon Jasper Jay’s new blue suit, while his face wore a wider smile than ever.

He had suddenly decided not to let his shop, after all.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey

The Tale of Solomon Owl Chapter IV AN ODD BARGAIN

Chapter IV AN ODD BARGAIN

While Mr. Frog was swallowing nothing rapidly, he was thinking rapidly, too. There was something about Solomon Owl’s big, staring eyes that made Mr. Frog feel uncomfortable. And if he had thought he had any chance of escaping he would have dived into the brook and swum under the bank.

But Solomon Owl was too near him for that. And Mr. Frog was afraid his caller would pounce upon him any moment. So he quickly thought of a plan to save himself. “No doubt—” he began. But Solomon Owl interrupted him.

“There!” cried Solomon. “You can speak, after all. I supposed you’d swallowed your tongue. And I was just waiting to see what you’d do next. I thought maybe you would swallow your head.”

Mr. Frog managed to laugh at the joke, though, to tell the truth, he felt more nervous than ever. He saw what was in Solomon Owl’s mind, for Solomon was thinking of swallowing Mr. Frog’s head himself.

“No doubt–” Mr. Frog resumed–“no doubt you’ve come to ask me to make you a new suit of clothes.”

Now, Solomon Owl had had no such idea at all. But when it was mentioned to him, he rather liked it. “Will you?” he inquired, with a highly interested air.

“Why, certainly!” the tailor replied. And for the first time since he had turned his backward somersault into the bulrushes, he smiled widely. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do!” he said. “First, I’ll make you a coat free. And second, if you like it I will then make you a waistcoat and trousers, at double rates.”

Solomon Owl liked the thought of getting a coat for nothing. But for all that, he looked at the tailor somewhat doubtfully. “Will it take you long?” he asked.

“No, indeed!” Mr. Frog told him. “I’ll make your coat while you wait.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going away,” Solomon assured him with an odd look which made Mr. Frog shiver again. “Be quick, please! Because I have some important business to attend to.”

Mr. Frog couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t he himself that Solomon Owl was going to attend to. In spite of his fears, however, he caught up his shears and set to work to cut up some cloth that hung just outside his door.

“Stop!” Solomon Owl cried in a voice that seemed to shake the very ground.” You haven’t measured me yet!”

“It’s not necessary,” Mr. Frog explained glibly. “I’ve become so skillful that one look at an elegant figure like yours is all that I need.”

Naturally, Mr. Frog’s remark pleased Solomon Owl. And he uttered ten rapid hoots, which served to make Mr. Frog’s fingers fly all the faster. Soon he was sewing Solomon’s coat with long stitches; and though his needle slipped now and then, he did not pause to take out a single stitch. For some reason, Mr. Frog was in a great hurry.

Solomon Owl did not appear to notice that the tailor was not taking much pains with his sewing. Perhaps Mr. Frog worked so fast that Solomon could not see what he was doing.

Anyhow, he was delighted when Mr. Frog suddenly cried:

“It’s finished!” And then he tossed the coat to Solomon. “Try it on!” he said. “I want to see how well it fits you.”

Solomon Owl held up the garment and looked at it very carefully. And as he examined it a puzzled look came over his great pale face.

There was something about his new coat that he did not understand.

The Tale of Solomon Owl by Arthur Scott Bailey