CHAPTER VI
WHAT THE WHITE OWL KNEW
Now in the hollow trunk of the tree in which Betty Barber’s book was hidden, lived the very sleepiest of all sleepy owls, and she hated being disturbed.
“Peace!” she said to her friend, Mrs. Bat, “there’s not a bit of peace. Ever since Betty Barber hid that book in my tree, it’s coming and going, it’s fussing and fuming, it’s raging and ramping, but never a bit of peace and quiet. I’m getting about tired of it. What with majors and fairies, and persons that are not even whole numbers, my tree is not my own.”
“Get rid of the book,” said Mrs. Bat sleepily, “peck it to pieces; it seems to be the cause of all the trouble. Ah! There’s the dawn breaking. I thought so, that’s why I am so sleepy—Day—day—Peck it to pieces, and you’ll be able to sleep in peace.”
“I only hope I shall get some sleep,” said Mrs. Owl, and as the Bat flew away she settled herself down in her favourite corner, blinked and winked, and nodded, and was beginning to feel quite dosy and comfortable, when she heard a scratch, scratch, at the foot of her tree.
“At it again,” sighed Mrs. Owl, “there’s somebody after that book, and at this time of day, too.”
Scratch, scratch, scrape, scrape!
“Well, I shan’t move to see who it is,” said Mrs. Owl, “if only there are not two of them, and if only they don’t talk, I shall get a nap.”
