Mr Lenine had been, as was his wont, spending his evening hours with the lady of his love. He was a timid man, and always returned to Tregenebris early. Beyond this, as the lady was alone, she deemed it prudent to let the world know that Mr Lenine left her by daylight.
One evening, it was scarcely yet dark, and our lover was returning home through Leah Lanes. His horse started at an old woman, who had crept under the hedge for shelter from a passing shower. As Mr Lenine saw a figure moving in the shade he was terrified.
“Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho,” sang an owl.
“It’s only me—Mr Lenine of Tregenebris,” said he, putting the spurs to his horse.
Something followed him, fast as he might go, and he forced his horse up the hill by Leah vean.
“Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho,” sang the owl.
“It’s only me—Aunt Betty Foss,” screamed the old woman.
“Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho, ho,” sang the owl again.
“Don’t ye be afeard, Mr Lenine,” shrieked Aunt Betty, almost out of breath.
“Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho, ho, ho,” also shrieked the owl.