when Simon Screecher began to make a
queer sound by opening his beak and shutting it with a snap, as if he
would like to nip somebody.

Dickie knew that Simon Screecher was in a terrible rage. And unless his
threatening actions scared Solomon Owl away, Dickie thought there was
likely to be a cousinly fight.

He was pleased to notice that Solomon Owl showed no sign of dismay.
There was really no reason why he should. He was much bigger than his
peppery cousin. And he looked at Simon in a calm and unruffled fashion
that seemed to make that quarrelsome fellow angrier than ever.

"What's the matter?" Solomon Owl asked Simon Screecher. "If you had any
teeth I'd think they were chattering.... Are you having a chill?"

Simon made no answer.

"Maybe you're afraid of something," Solomon Owl suggested. "Can it be
that young Deer Mouse down there on the ground?" And he laughed loudly
at what _he_ thought was a joke.

"That's _my_ Deer Mouse!" Simon Screecher squalled, suddenly finding his
voice. "I saw him first. And he's my prize."

"He looks to me like the one I lost a few nights ago," Solomon Owl
announced solemnly. "In that case, of course I saw him first. So you'd
better fly home to your old apple tree in the orchard."

"I'll do nothing of the sort!" Simon Screecher declared; and his voice
rose to a shrill quaver.

Turning swiftly, he flew straight at his cousin. And then how the
feathers did fly!

Dickie Deer Mouse wanted to stay right there, for he hated to miss any
of the fun. But he remembered that he was a "tidbit"; so he scampered
away through the woods. And though he never knew how the fight ended, he
was sure of one thing: There was no prize for the winner.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XIV

MAKING READY FOR WINTER

After his escape from Solomon Owl and Simon Screecher, Dickie Deer Mouse
never felt quite so care-free as he always had before, when wandering
through the woods at night. And he never stayed inside his house after
dark without wondering whether Solomon or Simon could by any chance
discover his snug home in the last year's bird's nest. It was not a
pleasant thought. And the oftener it popped into Dickie's head the less
he liked it.

Sometimes, when summer had ended and fall brought a night that was
rainy and cold, he liked to go home after he had finished his supper,
and burrow deep into his soft bed of cat-tail down.

But even after he had dried his wet coat and warmed hi