ave been dreadfully
deceived by mistaking the booming hoot of a horned owl for the roar of a
lion.

"Oh! no, of course not, Toby," Max hastened to assure him; "but it seems
as though there isn't going to be any _encore_ to that other noise."

"Then h-h-how are we agoin' to decide w-w-what it was?"

"We might take a vote, and see how we stand on it," laughed Max.

"Bull or lion, eh?" suggested Steve.

"There's a few clouds floating around loose," remarked Bandy-legs, as
though in an uncertain state himself; "and p'raps after all that was a
grumble of faraway thunder."

"S-s-s'pose somebody could be doin' blastin' up around here?"

This was a new idea that appealed to Toby. He sometimes startled his
comrades by having an original thought.

"That isn't such an impossible thing after all, Toby," admitted Max,
after considering it for a brief time; "although so far as I'm concerned
I don't think it was either thunder, or a blast."

"That brings us back to the original question--bull or lion?" Steve
pursued.

"We may never know which, if it isn't repeated," Bandy-legs observed,
sagely; for not wanting to be outdone by Toby he had racked his brain in
vain to find another possible explanation, and had to give it up.

"Well, whoever goes for eggs and milk to-morrow," began Max, "ought to
make a little investigation on his own account. Perhaps he might manage
to pick up a few points that will help us decide this mystery."

"You m-m-mean ask the f-f-farmer whether he k-k-keeps a bull, or a
roarin' old l-l-lion in his b-b-barn?"

"Ask about the bull, anyway," Max told him. "And if we learn that he's
the owner of such an animal, find out if the beast gives a bellow once
in a while."

"All right, that's settled then," Steve announced. "If I happen to be
one of the pair chosen to take that little excursion I'll put it up
straight to the old hayseed, and learn the truth. But say, hadn't we
better be changing the subject some, fellows. It isn't always a good
thing to get talking _too_ seriously about things like this just before
you drop off to bed."

"W-w-why?" asked Toby, suspiciously, for he had noticed that Steve
grinned somewhat when saying this, and gave him a quick look.

"Oh! well," the other continued, "you never can tell what sort of an
impression things make on one's mind, and are carried with you into
dreamland. I've done some queer stunts myself away back when I had the
bad habit of seeing things in my s