Several times in the night the queer little old man heard the hooting of the owl. More than once he thought he heard the wise bird say, “Who-oo, who-oo goes there?”
The first time a sharp “Hiss-ss, hiss-ss!” came in reply. Father Thrift shivered to think of a snake crawling so near him.
Then he heard the owl’s sharp command: “Halt! What is your business here?”
“I’m visiting friends that live in a hole in that cave,” replied the snake.
“I advise you to do your visiting some other time,” said the owl. “Father Thrift is sleeping in the cave to-night. He must not be disturbed.”
With the snake the owl’s word was law. He had known of several snakes that had shortened their lives by not taking the wise bird’s advice.
“Such strong claws, such a hooked bill, such sharp eyes, are not to be trifled with,” thought the snake, as he wriggled along toward home. “But what is the forest coming to when one can’t visit his friends? Besides, who is Father Thrift, anyway?”
Just then Great Gray Owl called to the snake: “Come to the cave, here, at ten o’clock in the morning and don’t forget. Tell your friends to come, too. There will be a meeting of all the animals of the forest.”
