It seemed the only thing to do and, making themselves as comfortable as they could, they set themselves to wait.
The blue moon rose higher and higher, and they became quite stiff.
"It may be a last year's nest," said Hortense.
"Or an owl's, and he won't come home until morning," said Andy.
They had almost fallen asleep when something big and white sailed down and alighted on the branch—a great owl like the one on Grandmother's mantel, with fierce, bright eyes.
"Who, who are you?" said the Owl. "And what are you doing at my door?"
"Please, sir," said Hortense, "we want to get down to the ground and cannot."
"Fly down," said the Owl.
"We can't fly," said Hortense.
"How absurd," said the Owl. "You shouldn't climb trees then."