And so I did; first, however, concealing the suit-case in my bedroom--not that I supposed hiding it would be of much use--and piling upon it poker, tongs, knife, horseshoe, and anything else I could find which I thought would keep off trespassers. I had, by the way, to explain to the maid that a bird had flown against the window and broken it, and when she said "Stupid, tiresome little things they are," I am afraid I did not contradict her. I went out by way of the garden and crossed the field, near the middle of which stands a large old oak. I went up to this, for no particular reason, and stood gazing at the trunk. As I did so I became aware that my eyes were beginning to "see through," and behold! a family of owls was inside. As it was near evening, they were getting wakeful, stirring, smacking their beaks and opening their wings a little from time to time. At last one of them said: "Time's nearly up. Out and about! Out and about!" "Anyone outside?" said another. "No harm there," said the first. This short way of talking, I believe, was due to the owls not being properly awake and consequently sulky. As they brightened up and got their eyes open, they began to be more easy in manner. "Oop! Oop! Oop! I've had a very good day of it. You have, too, I hope?" "Sound as a rock, I thank you, except when they were carrying on at the cottage." "Oh goodness! I forgot! They didn't bring it off, I hope." "Not they; the watch was too well set, but it was wanted. I had a leaf about it a few minutes after, and it seems they got him asleep." "Well! I never heard anyone bring a leaf." "I dare say not, but I was expecting it; pigeon dropped it. There it is, on that child's back." I saw the hen-owl stoop and examine a dead chestnut leaf which lay, as the other had said, on an owlet's back. "Fa-a-ther!" said this owlet suddenly, in a shrill voice, "mayn't I go out to-night?" But all that Father did was to clasp its head in his claw and push it to and fro several times. When he let go, the owlet made no sound, but crept away and hid its face in a corner, and heaved as if with sobs. Father closed his eyes slowly and opened them slowly--amused, I thought. The mother had been reading the leaf all the time. "Dear me! _very_ interesting!" she said. "I suppose now the worst of it is over." "All's quiet for to-night, anyhow," said Father, "but I wish he could see someone about to-morrow; that's their last chance, and they _may_----" He ruffled up his feathers, lifted first one foot and then the other. "The awkwardness is," he went on, "if I say too much and they do get the jars, there's one risk; and if there's no warning and they get them, there's another risk." "But if there _is_ a warning and they _don't_ get them," said she, very sensibly. "Well, to be sure, that would be better, even though we don't know much about him." "But where do you suppose he is, and whom ought he to see?" (It was just what I wanted to know, and I thanked her.)