“The Owl That Thought He Could Sing.” “What in the world can bring so many people into the grove to hear the nightingales sing?” said a young owl to his mother.
The old owl didn’t know and didn’t care—she was busy watching a bat.
“I am sure I have as fine a voice as any nightingale and a good deal stronger.”
“Stronger, certainly, my son,” said the owl, blinking her eyes, for the bat had escaped.
“I shall go into the grove to-night, and give them a song,” said the self-confident young owl.
The old owl opened her round eyes very wide, but said nothing.
So, when night came, and the hour for the sweet singing of the birds drew near, he flew heavily along and placed himself in a part of the grove where he could be seen and heard to the best advantage.
But the nightingales did not like the prospect either of his company or his help in their concert; so those of them who were going to sing flew away to another grove, while those who were to be quiet for the night kept snugly at roost.
“Where can the nightingales be?” said one of the people who had come to hear them.