Chapter 1

Illustrations

Solomon Owl Sat Up And Listened Solomon Found Mr. Frog’s Shop Was Closed Benjamin Bat Asked Solomon’s Advice “It’s All Right!” Said Solomon

The Tale of Solomon Owl

I Scaring Johnny Green

When Johnnie Green was younger, it always scared him to hear Solomon Owl’s deep-toned voice calling in the woods after dark.

“_Whoo-whoo-whoo, whoo-whoo, to-whoo-ah!_” That weird cry was enough to send Johnnie Green hurrying into the farmhouse, though sometimes he paused in the doorway to listen—especially if Solomon Owl happened to be laughing. His “_haw-haw-hoo-hoo_,” booming across the meadow on a crisp fall evening, when the big yellow moon hung over the fields of corn-shocks and pumpkins, sounded almost as if Solomon were laughing at the little boy he had frightened. There was certainly a mocking, jeering note in his laughter.

Of course, as he grew older, Johnnie Green no longer shivered on hearing Solomon’s rolling call. When Solomon laughed, Johnnie Green would laugh, too. But Solomon Owl never knew that, for often he was half a mile from the farm buildings.

A “hoot owl,” Johnnie Green termed him. And anyone who heard Solomon hooting of an evening, or just before sunrise, would have agreed that it was a good name for him. But he was really a _barred_ owl, for he had bars of white across his feathers.

If you had happened to catch Solomon Owl resting among the thick hemlocks near the foot of Blue Mountain, where he lived, you would have thought that he looked strangely like a human being. He had no “horns,” or ear-tufts, such as some of the other owls wore; and his great pale face, with its black eyes, made him seem very wise and solemn.

In spite of the mild, questioning look upon his face whenever anyone surprised him in the daytime, Solomon Owl was the noisiest of all the different families of owls in Pleasant Valley. There were the barn owls, the long-eared owls, the short-eared owls, the saw-whet owls, the screech owls—but there! there’s no use of naming them all. There wasn’t one of them that could equal Solomon Owl’s laughing and hooting and shrieking and wailing—at night.

During the day, however, Solomon Owl he was quiet about it. One reason for his silence then was that he generally slept when the sun was shining. And when most people were sleeping, Solomon Owl was as wide awake as he could be.

He was a night-prowler—if ever there was one. And he could see a mouse on the darkest night, even if it stirred ever so slightly.

That was unfortunate for the mice. But luckily for them, Solomon Owl couldn’t be in more than one place at a time. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a mouse left in Pleasant Valley—if he could have had _his_ way.

And though he didn’t help the mice, he helped Farmer Green by catching them. If he did take a fat pullet once in a while, it is certain that he more than paid for it.

So, on the whole, Farmer Green did not wood-lot. And for a long time Solomon raised no objection to Farmer Green’s living near Swift River.

But later Solomon Owl claimed that it would be a good thing for the forest folk if they could get rid of the whole Green family—and the hired man, too.

II A Newcomer

Upon his arrival, as a stranger, in Pleasant Valley, Solomon Owl looked about carefully for a place to live. What he wanted especially was a good, _dark_ hole, for he thought that sunshine was very dismal.

Though he was willing to bestir himself enough to suit anybody, when it came to _hunting_, Solomon Owl did not like to work. He was no busy nest-builder, like Rusty Wren. In his search for a house he looked several times at the home of old Mr. Crow. If it had suited him better, Solomon would not have hesitated to take that it was altogether _too light_ to please him.

That was lucky for old Mr. Crow. And the black rascal knew it, too. He had noticed that Solomon Owl was hanging about the neighborhood. And several times he caught Solomon examining his nest.

But Mr. Crow did not have to worry long. For as it happened, Solomon Owl at last found exactly what he wanted. In an old, hollow hemlock, he came across a cozy, dark cavity. As soon as he saw it he knew that it was the very thing! So he moved in at once. And except for the time that he spent in the meadow—which was considerably later—he lived there for a good many years.

Once Fatty Coon thought that he would drive Solomon out of his snug house and live in it himself. But he soon changed Solomon Owl—so Fatty discovered—had sharp, strong claws and a sharp, strong beak as well, which curled over his face in a cruel hook.

It was really a good thing for Solomon Owl—the fight he had with Fatty Coon. For afterward his neighbors seldom troubled him—except when Jasper Jay brought a crowd of his noisy friends to tease Solomon, or Reddy Woodpecker annoyed him by rapping on his door when he was asleep.

But those rowdies always took good care to skip out of Solomon’s reach. And when Jasper Jay met Solomon alone in the woods at dawn or dusk he was most polite to the solemn old chap. _Then_ it was “How-dy-do, Mr. Owl!” and “I hope you’re well to-day!” And when Solomon Jasper, that bold fellow always felt quite uneasy; and he was glad when Solomon Owl looked away.

If Solomon Owl chanced to _hoot_ on those occasions, Jasper Jay would jump almost out of his bright blue coat. Then Solomon’s deep laughter would echo mockingly through the woods.

You see, though not nearly so wise as he appeared, Solomon Owl knew well enough how to frighten some people.

III Solomon Likes Frogs

It was a warm summer’s evening—so warm that Mr. Frog, the tailor, had taken his sewing outside his tailor’s shop and seated himself cross-legged upon the bank of the brook, where he sang and sewed without ceasing—except to take a swim now and then in the cool water, “to stretch his legs,” as he claimed.

He was making a new suit of blue clothes for Jasper Jay. And since Jasper was a great dandy, and very particular Mr. Frog was taking special pains with his sewing.

Usually he did his work quickly. But now after every five stitches that he put into his work he stopped to take out ten. And naturally he was not getting on very fast. He had been working busily since early morning; and Jasper Jay’s suit was further than ever from being finished.

Since he was a most cheerful person, Mr. Frog did not mind that. Indeed, he was more than pleased, because the oftener he took a swim the fewer stitches he lost. So he sang the merriest songs he knew.

The light was fast fading when a hollow laugh startled Mr. Frog. It seemed to come from the willow tree right over his head. And he knew without looking up that it was Solomon Owl’s deep voice.

Mr. Frog tried to leap into the brook. But when he uncrossed his legs, in his haste he tangled them up in his sewing. And all he could do was to turn a somersault backward among some bulrushes, hoping that Solomon Owl had not seen him.

It is no secret that Mr. Frog was terribly afraid of Solomon Owl. Some of Mr. Frog’s friends had mysteriously disappeared. And they had last been seen in Solomon’s company.

As it happened, Mr. Frog had hoped in vain. For Solomon Owl only laughed more loudly than before. And then he said:

“What are you afraid of, Mr. Frog?”

The tailor knew at once that he was caught. So he hopped nimbly to his feet and answered that there was nothing to be afraid of, so far as he could see.

It was a true statement, too; because Mr. Frog had not yet discovered Solomon Owl’s exact whereabouts.

But he learned them soon; for Solomon immediately dropped down from the big willow and alighted on the bank near Mr. Frog—altogether _too near_ him, in fact, for the tailor’s comfort.

Solomon looked at Mr. Frog very solemnly. And he thought that he shivered.

“What’s the matter? Are you ill?” Solomon Owl inquired. “You seem to be shaking.”

“Just a touch of chills and fever, probably!” replied Mr. Frog with an uneasy smile. “You know it’s very damp here.”

“You don’t look in the best of health—that’s a fact!” Solomon Owl remarked. “You appear to me to be somewhat green in the face.” And he laughed once more—that same hollow, mirthless laugh.

Mr. Frog couldn’t help jumping, because the sound alarmed him.

“Don’t be disturbed!” said Solomon Owl. “I like all the Frog family.”

At that remark, Mr. Frog started violently That was exactly the trouble! Solomon Owl was _altogether too fond_ of frogs, whether they were old or young, big or little.

It was no wonder that Mr. Frog swallowed rapidly sixteen times before he could say another word.

IV An Odd Bargain

While Mr. Frog was swallowing nothing rapidly, he was thinking rapidly, too. There was something about Solomon Owl’s big, staring eyes that made Mr. Frog feel uncomfortable. And if he had thought he had any chance of escaping he would have dived into the brook and swum under the bank.

But Solomon Owl was too near him for that. And Mr. Frog was afraid his caller would pounce upon him any moment. So he quickly thought of a plan to save himself. “No doubt——” he began. But Solomon Owl interrupted him.

“There!” cried Solomon. “You can speak, after all. I supposed you’d swallowed your tongue. And I was just waiting to see what you’d do next. I thought maybe you would swallow your _head_.”

Mr. Frog managed to laugh at the joke, though, to tell the truth, he felt more nervous than ever. He saw what was in Solomon Owl’s mind, for Solomon was thinking of swallowing Mr. Frog’s head himself.

“No doubt—” Mr. Frog resumed—“no doubt you’ve come to ask me to make you a new suit of clothes.”

Now, Solomon Owl had had no such idea at all. But when it was mentioned to him, he rather liked it.

“Will you?” he inquired, with a highly interested air.

“Why, certainly!” the tailor replied. And for the first time since he had turned his backward somersault into the bulrushes, he smiled widely. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do!” he said. “First, I’ll make you a coat free. And second, if you like it I will then make you a waistcoat and trousers, at double rates.”

Solomon Owl liked the thought of getting a coat for nothing. But for all that, he looked at the tailor somewhat doubtfully.

“Will it take you long?” he asked.

“No, indeed!” Mr. Frog told him. “I’ll make your coat while you wait.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going away,” Solomon assured him with an odd look which made Mr. Frog shiver again. “Be quick, please! Because I have some important business to attend to.”

Mr. Frog couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t he himself that Solomon Owl was going to attend to. In spite of his fears, to work to cut up some cloth that hung just outside his door.

“Stop!” Solomon Owl cried in a voice that seemed to shake the very ground. “You haven’t measured me yet!”

“It’s not necessary,” Mr. Frog explained glibly. “I’ve become so skilful that one look at an elegant figure like yours is all that I need.”

Naturally, Mr. Frog’s remark pleased Solomon Owl. And he uttered ten rapid hoots, which served to make Mr. Frog’s fingers fly all the faster. Soon he was sewing Solomon’s coat with long stitches; and though his needle slipped now and then, he did not pause to take out a single stitch. For some reason, Mr. Frog was in a great hurry.

Solomon Owl did not appear to notice that the tailor was not taking much pains with his sewing. Perhaps Mr. Frog worked so fast that Solomon could not see what he was doing.

Anyhow, he was delighted when Mr. Frog suddenly cried:

“It’s finished!” And then he tossed the coat to Solomon. “Try it on!” he said. “I want to see how well it fits you.”

Solomon Owl held up the garment and looked at it very carefully. And as he examined it a puzzled look came over his great pale face.

There was something about his new coat that he did not understand.

V The Cold Weather Coat

Yes! As he held up his new coat and looked at it, Solomon Owl was puzzled. He turned his head toward Mr. Frog and stared at him for a moment. And then he turned his head away from the tailor and gazed upon the coat again.

Mr. Frog was most uncomfortable—especially when Solomon looked at _him_.

“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” he inquired.

Solomon Owl slowly shook his head.

“This is a queer coat!” he said. “What’s this bag at the top of it?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Frog. “That’s the hood! Knowing that you spend your winters here in Pleasant Valley, I made a hood to go over your head.... You’ll find it very comfortable in cold weather—and it’s the latest style, too. All the winter coats this year will have hoods, with holes to see through, you know.”

Solomon Owl looked relieved at Mr. Frog’s explanation. But there was still something more that appeared to trouble him.

“How shall I get into the coat?” he inquired. “It doesn’t open in front, as it should.”

“Another cold-weather style!” Mr. Frog assured him. “It’s wind-proof! And instead of buttoning the coat, you pull it on over your head.”

Solomon Owl said he didn’t like that style very well.

“Then I can easily change it,” the tailor told him. “But just try it on!” he urged. “It may please you, after all.”

So Solomon Owl pulled the coat over his head. And it fell down about him, almost reaching his feet. But the coat did not seem to suit him at all, for he began to splutter and choke.

“What’s the matter now?” Mr. Frog asked him.

“I can’t see—that’s what’s the matter!” Solomon Owl cried in a voice that sounded hollower than ever, because it was muffled by the hood, which covered his head.

“I declare—I haven’t cut the holes for your eyes!” the tailor exclaimed. “Just wait a moment and I’ll make everything satisfactory.” He clinked his shears together sharply as he spoke.

But Solomon Owl told him that he wouldn’t _think_ of letting anybody use shears so near his eyes.