"You'd try your luck at running away," he snarled. "You are the one to go first; and we'll have no words about it."
Well, Mr. Meadow Mouse began to shake more than ever.
"Don't you think," he quavered, "that we'd better wait a few days until I'm a bit smaller? I'm afraid I've been overeating lately and I might get stuck in a hole. And of course that would be awkward."
"Ha, ha!" Grumpy Weasel actually laughed. But it was not what any one could call a hearty, wholesome, cheerful sort of laugh. On the contrary, it sounded very cruel and gloating.
"Hoo, hoo!" Another laugh—this one weird and hollow—boomed out from the
hemlock tree just above Mr. Meadow Mouse's head.
He jumped, in spite of himself—did Mr. Meadow Mouse. And so, too, did Grumpy Weasel. Both of them leaped for the old stone wall. And each flashed into a crevice between the stones, though Grumpy Weasel was ever so much the quicker of the two. They knew Solomon Owl's voice too well to mistake his odd laughter.
"What's your hurry, gentlemen?" Solomon called to them.
Mild Mr. Meadow Mouse made no reply. But from Grumpy Weasel's hiding place an angry hiss told Solomon Owl that one of them, at least, had heard his question.
"Come out!" said Solomon Owl. "Don't be shy! I've dined already."