The Tale of Solomon Owl | Page 9

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.

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 some day. For they'll be really ill the first thing they
know. And then what will they do?"

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