The gray horse proved a good roadster and covered many a mile before midday. Presently, on coming to a crossway, Puss decided to take the road that led through the woods. He had hardly entered when he saw a funny little man dressed like a huntsman. In his right hand he carried a bow and on his back was a quiver full of arrows.
A small dog ran along at his heels, snuffing about continually, as if expecting to find a rabbit or a squirrel. Before Puss had gone much farther, the funny little huntsman paused under a large tree, from a hole in which an old owl looked out, winking and blinking his eyes.
There was an owl lived in an oak,
Whiskey, Whaskey, Weedle;
And all the words he ever spoke
Were Fiddle, Faddle, Feedle.
A sportsman chanced to come that way,
Whiskey, Whaskey, Weedle;
Said he, "I'll shoot you, silly bird!"
So Fiddle, Faddle, Feedle.
"Bow-wow!" yelped the little dog, suddenly catching sight of the old owl.
"There now, you've gone and done it!" cried the funny little hunter, as the owl quickly drew in his head. "You're a fine hunting-dog, you are!"
The little dog hung his tail and walked away. In another moment, on catching sight of Puss on his big gray horse, he set up another wild barking.
"What's the matter now?" inquired the little huntsman. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he exclaimed, suddenly seeing Puss.
"Your little dog is a better watchman than a hunter," said Puss, with a grin; "that is, he's a good old scout."
"Well, I'm glad to find out he's good for something," said the little hunter, "for he made me just now lose a good shot at an old owl that has been hooting and tooting around my house for many nights. I would have liked to put an arrow through his old head."