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Woodchuck had passed a good many hard winters asleep, while the snow lay deep upon the ground above them. It took Dickie Deer Mouse no longer than a jiffy to decide that he had found the very place for which he had been looking. He knew that in that secret chamber he had nothing to fear from Solomon Owl nor Simon Screecher, nor Fatty Coon, either.
"If Fatty Coon or Grumpy Weasel or my cousin Solomon Owl grabbed you, you'd find that a fight in the woods is a very different matter from a mere barnyard squabble." Turkey Proudfoot was furious. "If you'll come over here on this limb I'll peck you," he cried. "Huh! We don't fight that way in the woods," Simon Screecher retorted. "We don't peck. We tear-r-r-r!"
And Solomon Owl often remarked that he wished Dickie Deer Mouse would try to drive him away from his home in the hollow hemlock. But during his hunt for birds' nests Dickie Deer Mouse was careful to keep away from Solomon Owl, and his cousin Simon Screecher, and all the rest of the Owl family. He contented himself with hasty peeps into nests built by such smaller folk as Blackbirds and Robins.
He rolled out the last word in a long-drawn quaver which gave it a horrid sound especially in the woods, after dark. And Turkey Proudfoot felt chills a-running up and down his back. "A-ahem! You-you needn't bother to come over here," he stammered. "I-I shouldn't like to peck you. You-er-you seem to be a very pleasant sort of person." "Well, I'm not!" Simon Screecher informed him.
Although most of the birds had gone South to spend the winter, there were still some that Master Meadow Mouse had to shun. Old Mr. Crow was spending the winter on the farm. And there were Solomon Owl and his cousin Simon Screecher, who hunted over the meadow nightly.
A screecher, Peterkin called it, and he always listened with a smile of pride and satisfaction on his face when he heard the first indications of its blowing, and knew that four hundred men were quickening their stops on account of it, lest they should be a few minutes late and have their wages docked.
“Good!” said Simon Screecher. And he looked vastly relieved. “Just hoot when you have any mice for me!” “Whistle when you have any for me!” Solomon Owl replied. And at that they started out for their night’s sport. It was not long before Simon Screecher’s well known whistle brought Solomon hurrying to him. Simon already had three mice, one of which he gave to Solomon, according to their agreement.
“I’ll think over what you say,” he told Simon Screecher. “And now, since it’s almost dawn, we’d better not hunt any longer to-night. But I’ll meet you again at dusk if you’ll come to my house.” “Very well, Cousin Solomon!” Simon answered. “I’m sure that after you’ve had a good sleep you’ll be ready to agree with me.” “If that’s the case, I may not take any nap at all,” Solomon replied. “Oh!
And he had begun to fear that he would not succeed in getting more than thirty-nine winks all day—instead of forty—when all at once an idea came into his mind. Solomon knew right away that he had nothing more to worry about. He dropped into a sound sleep with a pleasant smile upon his usually solemn face. And when he opened his eyes again it was time for Simon Screecher to arrive. Yes!
Simon Screecher squalled, suddenly finding his voice. "I saw him first. And he's my prize." "He looks to me like the one I lost a few nights ago," Solomon Owl announced solemnly. "In that case, of course I saw him first. So you'd better fly home to your old apple tree in the orchard." "I'll do nothing of the sort!" Simon Screecher declared; and his voice rose to a shrill quaver.
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