Solomon had pains—sharp pains—underneath his waistcoat. And not knowing what else to do, he set off at once for Aunt Polly Woodchuck's house under the hill, in the pasture, which he had not visited since the previous fall. Luckily, he found the old lady at home. And quickly he told her of his trouble.  
“What have you been eating?” she inquired.
 
“I've followed your advice. I've been eating chickens,” said he—“very small chickens, because they were all I could get.”
 
Aunt Polly Woodchuck, who was an herb doctor—and a good one—regarded him through her spectacles.
 
“I'm afraid,” said she, “you don't chew your food properly. Bolting one's food is very harmful. It's as bad as not eating anything at all, almost.”
 
Solomon Owl showed plainly that her remark surprised him.
 
“Why,” he exclaimed, “I always swallow my food whole—when it isn't too big!”
 
“Gracious me!” cried Aunt Polly, throwing up both her hands. “It's no wonder you're ill. It's no wonder you have pains; and now I know exactly what's the matter with you. You have a wishbone inside you. I can feel it!” she told him, as she him in the waistcoat.
 
“I wish you could get it out for me!” said Solomon with a look of .
 
 
“All the wishing in the world won't help you,” she answered, “unless we can find some way of removing the wishbone so you can wish on that. Then I'm sure you would feel better at once.”
 
“This is strange,” Solomon . “All my life I've been sw............