WHAT THE WHITE OWL KNEW
the other eye, and began to blink at the daylight, which peeped in at her through the chinks of the tree.
A yawn from Half-term, a sigh from Thirteen-fourteenths, then three groans from each of them. Then they both rolled over and met face to face.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Half-term, “and you don’t seem quite chirpy.”
“You seem a bit depressed yourself,” said Thirteen-fourteenths.
“I’m sick of it,” said Half-term.
“So am I,” said Thirteen-fourteenths.
“I’m tired of painting all the time,” said Half-term.
“Not half as tired as I am of seeing those children paint all the time,” said Thirteen-fourteenths. ‘Not a girl, not a boy, will do anything but paint, paint, paint. I can’t think what has come over them all.”
“Oh, well, you see, I thought it would be fun to paint all day long, so did Easter, so did Summer, so did dear old Christmas,” said Half-term, “and we told the children so; but really, even I have had enough of it.”
“Had enough of it!” said Thirteen-fourteenths, quite angrily. “So you are the cause of all this trouble. And, pray, did you think what would happen in Paint Land?”
Half-term picked himself up from the ground, and gave a long, low whistle.
“My young friend,” said Half-term quite solemnly, “if you’ll believe me, I never thought of that at all.”
“Well, then, perhaps you may as well have a look and see,” said Thirteen-fourteenths crossly, and he pointed to the tree.
“I will go and see,” said Half-term, solemnly, “but first I should like to explain that if mischief has been done I am not the real cause of the mischief.”
“What do you mean?” cried Thirteen-fourteenths. “You say you and your precious sisters told the children to paint all day long.”
“So we did,” said Half-term, “but only because I saw it in the book.”
