“What nonsense!” growled the fiddle, in such an ugly tone that even the donkey rose on his hind legs to cover his big ears with his forefeet.
“We’re going to ask the old witch owl about it,” said the pup. “Come along and hear what she says.”
“Rr-r-r-r-zing, you silly thing,” snarled the fiddle, so fiercely that without waiting for more,
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig with an odd little reel,
And the roly-poly pup and the kicking, kicking donkey,
And the ill-tempered fiddle followed after.
He sneaked along, though, behind the others, and tripped often in his broken strings, and this made his temper worse.
Well, the day was darkening into twilight when they reached the barn. But they were so anxious to hear the old witch owl’s opinion that they didn’t notice this. The old witch owl stood in a little round opening in the front of the barn, high up near the pointed top where the weathercock turns. She was looking out into the gathering darkness, planning her voyage into the night.
“There she is,” squealed the pig in a whisper, getting behind the pup.