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Updated: May 20, 2025
But he seldom gave any unsought advice. "I've about made up my mind," said Simon Screecher, "that I'd move to some other neighborhood. If I knew where there was good mousing I'd move to-morrow." While he was speaking, Solomon Owl started ever so slightly. And he cocked his head on one side, as if he were listening for something. At that moment his cousin began to whistle again. "Be quiet!"
The teacher a lesson he taught; The preacher a lesson he praught; The stealer, he stole; The healer, he hole; And the screecher, he awfully scraught. The long-winded speaker, he spoke; The poor office seeker, he soke; The runner, he ran; The dunner, he dan; And the shrieker, he horribly shroke.
If it sounded nearer the next time it reached his ears, Dickie Deer Mouse promptly hid himself in any good place that was handy. So matters went along for some time. And Dickie actually began to think that perhaps he didn't need to be so careful, and that maybe Simon Screecher was not so bad as people said.
Without telling anybody what was in his head, Dickie Deer Mouse set forth one pleasant, warm night in the direction of the great elm, where he hoped to pass a number of delightful months. It was some distance to the tall tree. But the night was fine, and Dickie enjoyed his journey, though once he stopped and shivered when he heard the wailing whistle of a screech owl. "That's Simon Screecher!"
Simon Screecher inquired in a testy tone. "Yes!" Solomon admitted. "But I haven't had my dessert yet.... What are you looking at so closely, Cousin Simon, down there on the ground?" An angry light came into Simon Screecher's eyes. "Can't I look where I please?" he snapped. And he changed his seat again, so that he might get a better view of Dickie and Solomon at the same time.
However, he jumped almost out of his skin one night, when he heard a wailing whistle in a tree right over his head. And when he came down upon all-fours again he couldn't see a single place to hide. So he stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe. To Dickie's dismay, a mocking laugh rang out. And somebody said: "I see you!" It was Simon Screecher himself that spoke.
Wisdom would say sixty: Father Chronos might divide that by three, and would get scarce a month in addition, hungry as he is for her, and all of us! But Minerva's handmaiden has no age. And now, dear Ugo, you have your opportunity to denounce her as a convicted screecher by night. Do so."
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