Osmo, of course, could not answer without opening his mouth, so he grunted again hoping that Mikko would have to notice why he couldn’t answer. But the Fox didn’t glance at him at all. With his nose still pointed upwards he kept sniffing the air.
“It seems to me it’s from the South,” he said. “Isn’t it from the South, Osmo?”
“Um! Um! Um!” the Bear grunted.
“You say it is from the South, Osmo? Are you sure?”
“Um! Um!” Osmo repeated, growing every moment more impatient.
“Oh, not from the South, you say. Then from what direction is it blowing?”
By this time the Bear was so exasperated by Mikko’s interest in the wind when he should have been admiring the Grouse that he forgot himself, opened his mouth, and roared out:
“North!”
Of course the instant he opened his mouth, the Grouse flew away.
“Now see what you’ve done!” he stormed angrily. “You’ve made me lose my fine plump Grouse!”