XI 



LITTLE SOLOMON OTUS 



Oh, the wise, wise look of him, with his big round eyes 

 and his very Roman nose ! He had sat in a golden silence 

 throughout that dazzling day; but when the kindly moon 

 sent forth a gentler gleam, he spoke, and the speech of 

 little Solomon Otus was as silver. A quivering, quaver- 

 ing whistle thrilled through the night, and all who heard 

 the beginning listened to the end of his song. 



It was a night and a place for music. The mellow light 

 lay softly over the orchard tree, on an old branch of 

 which little Solomon sat mooning himself before his 

 door. He could see, not 'far away, the giant chestnut 

 trees that shaded the banks of a little ravine; and hear 

 the murmuring sound of Shanty Creek, where Nata^ grew 

 up, and where her grandchildren now played hide-and- 

 seek. Near at hand stood a noble oak, with a big dead 

 branch at the top that was famous the country round 

 as a look-out post for hawks and crows; and maybe 

 an eagle now and then had used it, in years gone by. 



But hawk and crow were asleep, and toads were trill- 

 ing a lullaby from the pond, while far, far off in the heart 

 of the woods, a whip-poor-will called once, twice, and 

 again. 



1 Hexapod Stories, page 89. 

 163 



