The next moment it was flying silently away, but another shrill squeak brought it back to hover before them, staring in wonder, till, apparently divining that it was being imposed upon, it swooped away.
“What a big owl!” said Tom in a whisper. “There! Hear that?”
Dick did hear that! A low whinnying noise, and the blow given by a horse’s hoof, as if it had stamped impatiently while in pain.
Directly after there was a mournful lowing from the direction of the cow-house, followed by an angry bellow.
“That’s old Billy,” said Dick. “What’s the matter with the things! It’s a hot night, and some kind of flies are worrying them. Here, let’s get to bed.”
He was moving in the direction of the bed; but just then there was another louder whinnying from the lodge where the cart-horses were kept, and a series of angry stamps, followed by a bellow from the bull.
“There is something wrong with the beasts,” said Dick. “I’ll call father. No, I won’t. Perhaps it’s nothing. Let’s go down and see.”
“But we should have to dress.”
“No; only slip on our trousers and boots. You’ll go with me, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” said Tom; “but I don’t want to.”