It was an ideal May day, warm and balmy. The songs of the lately arrived birds filled the air; active little chipmunks, awakened from their winter’s sleep, darted here and there with amazing fleetness, while the frogs croaked loudly on the river bank, rejoicing that spring had come.
Suddenly Sirius darted forward in swift pursuit of a little creature which had ventured forth from its home shortly before and had been unmindful of the approach of two such hereditary enemies as a boy and a dog. Quickly though Sirius ran, however, the little animal, having the start, and becoming conscious at once that it was being pursued, darted away and was lost to sight.
“It was a weasel, I verily believe,” exclaimed Peter aloud, running in great excitement to the spot where it had disappeared. “Sirius, why didn’t you catch him? It is the one that has been killing our chickens.”
Sirius was beside himself with rage and disappointment. There was enough of the terrier in his nature to make him feel that a weasel was his lawful prey, and he jumped madly about the stump where the weasel had disappeared, barking, digging in the ground, and nosing in every direction.
“Yes, I do believe it lives here, Sirius,” said Peter. “We’ll get him yet. Here’s a little passage-way among the roots of the stump. We’ll dig out the nest as soon as we get a chance, Sirius. I saw a weasel’s nest once, dug it out, and it was as cosy as possible, lined with dead leaves and grass and feathers and a snake’s skin. We don’t want any more dead chickens lying with holes in their necks, indeed we don’t. Come on now, sir! We’re going to the woods.”
They continued their walk, Sirius leaving the stump sorely against his will, and going back to it again and again; and finally they reached the thicker woods where Sophy had lost her way on the memorable occasion when the owl had shrieked and had so sorely frightened her.
“I wish I could find that owl to-day, but I don’t believe he lives in these woods,” thought Peter. “I will look for him before I go watch those other birds. I believe that was the big tree where the owl was sitting when it yelled.”
He walked quietly to the spot, and seating himself on a fallen tree he ordered Sirius to be quiet. Nothing living was to be seen. The new leaves upon the trees were not very thick as yet, and the afternoon sun shone warmly through them, resting in patches on the undergrowth. With his hand on the dog’s collar Peter sat and waited.
Presently a gray squirrel moved cautiously along a branch, sitting quite still for a moment to watch them with mingled curiosity and anxiety, and then, finding these strangers so motionless and apparently so harmless, approaching quite near to them. It was hard for Sirius to remain quiet with so entrancing an object of pursuit within easy reach, but he had been well trained and, above all, he loved Peter, and was not Peter’s hand upon his collar?
Very soon the gray squirrel became tired of looking at them and ran away, and in the meantime Peter had discovered something in the tall tree which he had been watching. About forty feet above him was a hole as large as his own head, and standing on the edge of this hole was an owl. At first Peter had not been able to distinguish it, for it was of a mottled brown, and so like the bark of the tree in color that the difference could at first glance be scarcely detected. He was quite sure, however, that it had not been there when he arrived upon the spot. Neither did he think that it was the same owl that had given the strange cry the other day. This seemed like a little screech owl. He made some slight noise, breaking some twigs from the log on which he was sitting, and in a flash the owl disappeared within the hole and was seen no more that afternoon.