I soon told her the trouble. The owl, of course, knew all about it, but he was a very bold fellow and evidently scorned us all. While Mona was staring and sniffing the air in his direction, the great creature made another swoop. Not a sound was audible. Owls are very sneaky creatures. He hovered over the apple-tree nearest the carriage-house—there was a loud cackle from Beauty, and a spluttering from the chickens. We could hear some of them fluttering to the ground.
Mona bounded away.
“She can't fly,” I said, “but that owl will be smart if he gets any of the chickens while they are near her on the ground.”
The owl knew better than to descend too low, but the bold fellow made one more dash at the apple-tree.
More chickens cried and flounced wildly about in the darkness. Mona just yelled with rage, and in a jiffy Barlo was leaping and barking beside her. Mr. Gleason was at the window sending up a rocket that made Mr. Owl vanish like a ghost.
I laughed the most delicious cat laugh that I ever enjoyed. I just fancied that owl's astonishment when the rocket went flying through the air in his direction. I don't think he will ever come back to the farm.
“Let him hunt mice and vermin in the meadow,” said Serena, “and leave our chickens alone.”
Part of the family was at the windows, the rest was out-of-doors. Serena and I advanced to the side of Mr. Denville. He ran his hand over my back, then over Serena's. “This cat is bleeding,” he said.
“And some of the chickens are gone,” said Mr. Gleason, “look at these feathers.” He whirled his lantern round under the trees where the moonbeams did not penetrate, and showed what he had picked up.
“There isn't one gone,” said Mona to me. “When the owl flew away, he carried nothing with him.”