The owl looked very sleepy, and blinked his eyes very hard. “He must have been asleep,” said Laurie to himself, “owls always do sleep in the day-time I suppose.”

“Who-oo!” screeched the owl, flapping his wings and ruffling up his feathers, and looking very hard at Laurie. “Oh, dear! I beg your pardon,” said Laurie, feeling very much frightened indeed, “I didn’t mean to be rude, but all the birds and animals on the farm here have such a curious way of knowing what I’m thinking.” The owl paid no attention to him, however, but opened the door wider for them to enter, and Laurie, keeping close behind the pigeon, stepped in. The owl was evidently a bachelor, for his room was very untidy; books and papers lay piled about in the greatest confusion, and while he tried in a clumsy way to make room for them, every now and then he would upset something, as he was extremely near-sighted. He finally pushed a revolving globe on a stand toward Laurie, evidently thinking it a stool; it was very uncomfortable to sit on, and it had a way of turning round at the least little motion, and Laurie hoped that whatever the message was the pigeon would not remain long.

The owl reads over the paper

The pigeon now brought out a folded paper from a pocket underneath his wing, and handed it to the owl, who opened it, and said he would give it due consideration on reading it over. After listening to their conversation awhile Laurie learned that the owl, because of his wisdom, was the judge who decided the serious affairs and quarrels among the other birds and animals. The room was built in the hollow of a dead tree—it was quite snug, but not half so nice as the squirrel house, for there was no pretty wall paper, and a great spider-web instead hung across one corner of the room; on one side was an oval window, out of which could be seen wood and meadow, and on a peg against the wall hung a warm winter cloak of soft moleskin. The owl now gravely folded and sealed several legal-looking documents, and gave them to the pigeon, who, tucking them away in the same pocket, flapped his wings, and, nodding to Laurie to jump on his back, flew out into the sunshine. Laurie had hardly time to wonder where the pigeon was taking him to this time, when he saw the farm below them, and they alighted on the roof of the barn.

Laurie was standing on the top of the barn roof

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” crowed the rooster on the weather-vane, but he really thought he was saying “How-de-do-de-do?” He was a splendid fellow, for he was pure gold and shone in the sunlight; he turned this way and that for everybody to see him, until the common fowls in the barn-yard envied him and wished themselves in his place, though if they had only known it they were far better off than he, for they could pick up corn and worms, while he was obliged to stand there always, which was not so pleasant on rainy days. He was terribly hoarse, too, from the damp weather, and it made his voice sound like a rusty hinge that needed oiling. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” he said to Laurie, and Laurie bowed the best way he could, which was not very easy considering that he was standing on the top of the barn roof. “So you are the little boy who has come to visit at the farm-house; I saw you drive in. I see everything and everybody, people come and people go; it is a mistake to think that one must travel to see the world: I prefer to remain at home, but then every one is not as bright as I”—he certainly was conceited—“still I am never idle,” he continued, “for I have my work to do; the farmer cannot do without me. I warn him of a change of weather, but not everyone who is changeable can be depended upon.”

Here the pigeon interrupted him to tell him what the wind had said of a storm coming, and he promised to look toward the east for it. The wind had certainly got up, there was no doubting it; the weathercock and pigeon were right, it was going to rain, big drops were pattering down on the roof.

Beside him stood the turkey-gobbler

Laurie looked round to find the pigeon, but he had disappeared, no doubt for fear he would get his feathers wet. “Serves you right, serves you right!” sounded close to Laurie’s ear, and beside him stood the turkey-gobbler. “So you thought the pigeons just flew round in a silly sort of way, picking up crumbs did you,” he said—or gobbled I should say, his voice was so cross—“and you didn’t suppose we had our work to do as well as the people on the farm, did you?” he really looked very alarming as he ruffled up his feathers and spread out his tail like a great fan. “Serves you right, to be left out in the rain this way,” he went on, “next time you’ll have better manners, I hope, than to call any one a rude bird.” Laurie was very much frightened indeed—it was raining harder and harder; he started to run: patter, patter, patter, sounded the feet of the turkey behind him, “gobble, gobble,”—patter, patter,—no, it was only the rain drops this time, he was quite out of breath, where was he?

The turkey-gobbler

He looked about him, he was no longer in the barnyard—of course he knew where he was now, but—how frightened he had been; he rubbed his eyes, it was morning, the sun shone and there was Aunt Laura clapping her hands in the doorway to waken him. “Wake up, wake up, Laurie,” she said—“why dear me,” she added in a puzzled way, looking up at the mantelpiece, “how did I happen to forget to shut the cupboard door last night?”

“How did I happen to forget to shut the cupboard door last night?”

Perhaps she forgot to shut it, or the pigeon forgot, I do not know; anyway that is the end of the Pigeon Story, children;—and maybe to-morrow, when the stockings are all darned, and the toys put neatly away, I shall tell you the Field Mouse Tale, or the Duck Tale or the Windmill Tale, for there are four altogether—would you like to hear them?

Flower ornament

Printed in Bavaria.