"Perhaps, after all, it pays to be pleasant," he said—just as if that was a reason! But he stopped short all at once. "There's that stupid Mrs. Hen," he cried aloud. "She was pleasant; but it won't pay her, in the end!" So he decided on the spot that he would keep on being surly. It would be much easier for him, anyhow.
That very night Grumpy Weasel stole back to the henhouse. And he was just about to creep up to the old rat hole, pausing first to take a searching look all
around, when he saw a motionless figure sitting on a low-hanging limb of a tree near-by. It was Solomon Owl. And Grumpy could see that he was staring at the rat hole as if he were waiting for somebody.
Grumpy Weasel knew at once that that rat hole was no safe place for him. Very gingerly he drew back into a deep shadow. And as he pondered silently he saw a huge rat step out of the hole. Solomon Owl swooped down and grabbed the fellow before he knew what was happening.
Well, Grumpy Weasel saw that all his trouble had gone for nothing. Silly Mrs. Hen hadn't known what she was talking about. If Solomon Owl was in the habit of watching that hole Grumpy certainly didn't mean to go near it.
Of course he was angry. But Mrs. Hen never learned what he said about her. No
matter what remarks her neighbors made, she always insisted afterward that Grumpy Weasel was one of the most pleasant and polite gentlemen she had ever met.