The barn was a very silent place. The rasping of its rusty latch always gave ample time for all its little wild tenants to get under cover, so usually all you heard when you entered would be the hidden, lonely trill of a cricket or a faint, stealthy rustle in the hay.
Upon a broad beam far up over the loft where the oat straw was stored, lived rather an exclusive family, that of the barn owl. You would never have dreamed they were there, so well did the brown feathers of the owls blend with the dimness of the shadows. Under the grain bins, far down below, lived a large colony of fat rats, while in among the dried clover raced and romped shoals of field-mice who wintered there. But there was another, a new tenant, feared and shunned by all the others. He came from no one knew where exactly; still the farmer's boy might have explained, for he had lost a pet ferret.
The ferret was an ugly creature to look upon, its body long and snaky, and covered with yellowish-white, rather dirty-looking fur; its movements were sly and furtive, and somehow always struck terror to every tenant of the barn whenever they saw him steal forth. All winter the ferret had been there, and the hay was literally honeycombed with its secret tunnels, and woe to anything which happened to cross its evil trail.
Each evening soon after twilight the swallows would return to the barn from their raids, and when the shadows grew quite dusky far down beneath them, then the bats and the barn owl family would launch themselves out into the night.
"Squeak, squeak," ordered the big male bat; then like two shadows they would flit silently off upon their velvety wings. All during the early part of the night they chased gnats and moths, because they invariably got their best pickings before midnight. Before the dim shadows began to lift, the bats and owls had returned usually, but the bat family did not retire again behind their cobweb curtain; instead they hung themselves by their wing-claws head downward from the beam, folding their wings closely over their beady eyes, and thus they would sleep all day.
Warmer days came, and livelier times were stirring among the tenants of the barn. Far up on her own beam Mrs. Barn Owl tended and fed two young downy owlets faithfully. Of course the owl mother knew the beam to be quite a safe spot for baby owls, but somehow she distrusted the skulking old ferret, whom she occasionally caught sight of; besides, rats sometimes climb beams, and once, before the owl eggs had hatched, something had stolen one egg; so that is really why there were but two owlets instead of three.
The swallows were the busiest tenants, for each nest now held a circle of gaping, hungry mouths to feed. All day long, and far into twilight, the swallows were whirring incessantly, in and out. But up in the secret corner, partially hidden by the torn cobweb curtain, clung Mrs. Bat herself, and if you could only have peeped beneath one of her wings you might have seen the dearest little mite of a bat, with eyes of jet, clinging close to its mother's breast as she folded it tenderly beneath her wing. There the helpless little creature stayed, close to its mother, until it became older and stronger, for among all the tiny, fur-bearing animals there is no little mother more considerate of her young than the bat. And rather than leave the furry thing all alone upon the great beam when she had to go off for food, as she could not carry it beneath her wing in flight, she would make a kind of little basket cradle by spreading out her wing, and thus the baby bat would ride with its mother, clinging close to her back with its wing hooks and tiny teeth, and he never fell from the wing basket nor was he afraid.
When the young owlets were out of the pin-feather stage they began to go out with the old ones. But once when they were left behind, sitting huddled together upon their beam, when the mother owl came back only one small, chuckle-faced owlet remained. Hunt as she might, the robber had left no clue behind. However, her suspicions centred upon the sly old ferret and she took to watching his movements more than ever. There she would sit, sullen and revengeful, far up among the shadows and beams, with her one owlet. She frequently saw the sinuous, snake like body of the ferret creep forth, and even caught the sound of his peculiarly hateful hiss when he encountered anything in his path. Once, in a great fury she swooped clear down to the barn floor after her enemy, but she got there a second too late. The sly creature had heard the swish of the owl's wings when she left the beam, and caught a fleeting glimpse of her blazing yellow eyes, so he hastily slid into the nearest runway, and the owl flew back to her beam defeated; but she never forgot, she simply waited.
More and more bold became the raids of the hateful old ferret. He robbed the swallows' nests; frequently you might see his dirty-white, sinuous body stealing across some high beam, creeping, creeping warily, arching his back, holding his snaky head high, one foot gathered up, looking for an unguarded nest; then if he found one, he would arch his snaky neck over the edge of the nest and suck every egg.
Velvet Wings, the young bat, grew very fast. He foraged for himself now, for his wings were as broad and fleet as his mother's. Sometimes, however, he made a clumsy start and so got many a fall. So one night as he started forth he fell fluttering and squeaking and protesting, until with a soft thud he landed far below upon the barn floor. Completely stunned Velvet Wings lay there, his wings outspread and helpless, his little heart beating so hard it shook his whole body. Of course he saw nothing, so did not notice the peaked snout of the sly old ferret as he peered inquisitively forth from his lair in the hay to see what the soft thud might be. The next instant the ferret had Velvet Wings in his cruel mouth, but instead of devouring him at once he began to have some fun with the poor bat, tossing it in the air, then pouncing upon it as it fell, mauling it as a cat does a mouse, pinning its wings down with both fore feet. A second more and Velvet Wings would have been lost, but that second was not allowed the ferret; for far up among the brown rafters a pair of great, blazing yellow eyes had been watching, and like a rocket from above fell the old mother owl, clear to the barn floor. "Swish, swish," went her great wings, as she buried her talons in the back of the dirty-white fur coat. With a twist of his snaky, supple body, the ferret managed to free himself a second from that awful clutch, and, arching its back, it began to slip away. But the owl was too quick; landing upon the ferret's back, she took another, firmer hold and bore him, struggling and snarling, aloft.