The birch-broom scattered the birds for a while, but they soon came back, for they were not going to be frightened away by a bundle of twigs, when they did not even care for a scarecrow, but used to go and sit upon its head; while the tomtit declared it was a capital spider trap, and used to pick out no end of savoury little spinners for his dinner.
When the birds had all settled again, they went to business in a quieter way, for they did not wish to be again driven off in such a sweeping manner; so at last they decided that the owl should be judge, because he looked big and imposing.
“Oh!” said Specklems the starling, “but he’s so sleepy and chuckleheaded.”
“All the better, my dear sir,” said the magpie, who had come back on hearing the news of the capture; “all the better, my dear sir, for you know you will be for the prosecution, and then, with a highly respectable jury, we shall get on capitally; in fact, hardly want any judge at all, only to keep up appearances.”
“Whew, whoo, whistlerustle,” away they went, and settled in a cloud on the top of the old ivied house, and round about the owl’s nest—birds of all colours, sorts, and sizes; long tails and short tails; long bills and short bills; worm-workers, grub-grinders, bud-biters, snail-crushers, seed-snappers, berry-bringers, fruit-finders, all kinds of birds—to fetch Judge Owl to sit at the court, to try the foreign thief, who had made such a commotion, trouble, bother, worry, and disturbance; and kicked up such a dust, such a shindy, such a hobble, as had never before been known in Featherland.
“Hallo! here, Shoutnight; hallo! wake up; anybody at home?” said the magpie, holding his head very much on one side, and peeping with one eye at a time into the snug place where the fuzzy old gentleman used to bring his mice home. “Hallo! here,” he continued, throwing in a small lump of mortar, which woke up the owl with a start.
“Who-hoo-hoo-hoo?” shouted the master of the house.
“Who-who tu-who-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo?” shouted the mistress.
“Ciss-s-s—phistle—phut-snap,” chorused the juveniles, who had been disturbed by their mamma, treading upon one, scratching another on the side of the head, and giving number three such a crack with her wing that the little fellow was knocked out of the nest into an old sooty part of the chimney, and came back such a little guy that his mother hardly knew him.
“Who-who-oo-oo-oo?” said the owl again.