It so happened, however, that at the very moment the Mouse began his conversation with the Sentry, the Owl awakened with a start from a bad daymare, and all but hooted with fright. Growing calm as he became wider awake, he was going off to sleep again,—when the name of the Rabbit caught his ear. Being well acquainted with both him and the Mouse, whose squeaking voice he recognized, the Owl listened to what was being said, at first with drowsy then with startled attention.
He only waited until he had learned all the details of the vile plot, and then, overcoming, in the cause of friendship, every desire to close his heavy eyes, he stole away, and imparted his startling news to the astonished Rabbit.
“Impossible!” exclaimed his hearer, letting his drum-stick fall with a crash upon the instrument he had been industriously practising. “I would as soon doubt my own honor as that of the little Mouse—my friend and companion through weal and woe. Impossible! You must have dreamt it, or invented it.”
“Don’t be so hasty in your judgment,” remarked the Owl. “I have neither dreamt nor invented it. If you doubt me go without delay to the brown Horse’s stable, where you will find the Mouse at this present moment talking with his wicked companion. I will wait here until you return, in case I may be needed to help you in your difficulty.”
“Many thanks,” said the Rabbit, and leaving his drum in charge of the Owl he hurried away.
But a short time passed, and then he returned with a look of horror and dismay.
“All you have told me is but too true,” he exclaimed. “Let me tender you my most sincere apologies for having doubted your word. Unseen by my faithless friend, I listened to his conversation with the Horse, and overheard more than enough to convince me of the truth of your story.
“Yet who,” he continued sorrowfully, “who could have believed it of that little Mouse? Who would have imagined so great an amount of deceit dwelt in so small a body?”