Well, waited, and waited, and waited. But nobody came at all. Nobody unless you count the bats. Killer didn’t because only a bird can catch them when they’re awake, and it’s a lucky bird if it does.  
He got hungrier, and hungrier, and hungrier. Still nobody came. And the hungrier he got the madder he was because the Little had brought him there. He thought they were playing a trick on him. So he began to slip from one tree to another, hunting for the one they in.
 
The ground under an ’s perch always has little gray wads of fur and feathers and bones beneath it—the of the last food the owls have been eating.
 
If there are very many weasels and cats to bother them, the owls carry these to some other tree than the one they sleep in. But these Bad Little Owls were too lazy to attend to their housekeeping. Killer put his nose into a whole pile of this rubbish the very first thing.
 
“!” he . “Let me think. That owl said she didn’t hunt . Then she stole them; she stole them from under the Robins’ Roost. I’ll teach that owl to let my birds alone, just exactly wherever I choose to leave them. She stole those robins! I’ll——” But he up his ears because he heard the little owls begin to talk on their perch just over his head.
 
“I wonder if Killer and the Woodsfolk have made friends by now,” said one. “I’ve been listening ever since I woke up, and I haven’t heard a thing.”
 
“Few beasts can move so quietly that an owl doesn’t hear them even if he’s listening,” thought Killer proudly.
 
“Of course they’ve made friends,” said the lady owl. “If they made friends with Stripes , of course they would with him. He’s ever so much smarter, and I think he’s much handsomer.” She did, too. Owls think it’s fine to be fierce looking.
 
“But what if they don’t?” insisted her mate.
 
“Why, then I’ll show him where they have their holes and help him hunt them, that’s all,” she answered.
 
“A-ha!” said Killer to himself. “That won’t be a bad plan. I won’t quarrel with her yet. I’ll let her help me all she can before I get even with her. All the same, I want to know what that man is doing out here, and why she didn’t warn me.”
 
He meant Louie Thomson.
 
If those little owls had known there wasn’t another thing for him to eat in all the Woods and Fields except the flittery bats, which he couldn’t catch, and Squirrel, safely hidden in his secret nest, they’d have had the appetites scared right out of them—and that’s the most you can possibly scare an owl. But they didn’t. So there they perched, feasting on the robins they had stored in their hole, which they used for a pantry.
 
“Speaking of holes,” said the little he-owl, “I’ve been wondering if we oughtn’t to look up some more. This one we have will never hold all we’ll have to hide when that weasel begins the Woodsfolk.”
 
“It’s no use,” answered his wicked little wife. “Those Woodsfolk are all too big for us to carry. We’ll have to eat them where he leaves them, like we did when Silvertip was doing our hunting.”
 
“Silvertip!” the weasel. “O-ho! I remember that fox. He couldn’t catch me. I’m too smart for him. But I’d better keep an eye out. I wonder where he is now?”
 
“I wish Killer would catch some more robins,” said the little he-owl, wiping his clean of the feathers that were sticking to it. “They’re very convenient, and we’ve eaten all but the very last one. Shall I get it?”
 
“Um-hm!” the weasel nodded to himself. “Now I understand. You birds invited me here to do your hunting, did you? Well, I’ll see to it you don’t get anything you don’t earn.” But of course he didn’t say it—not yet. He wanted to hear what else they’d talk about.
 
“Only one robin left!” exclaimed the lady owl. “My claws! Who’d have thought we’d eat those birds all up in such a short time? You must have been at them while I was sleeping, you greedy thing! I’ve had hardly any of them.” She her beak at the other owl so angrily that he moved away from her down the limb.
 
“You’ve had as many as I have,” he whimpered. “Can’t we show Killer the where the mice live? They’d be easy to carry, and he’d kill any amount of them.”
 
“Fine!” she agreed. “We’ll need them. There’s going to be a storm.”
 
“Well, we might just as well eat this robin then,” argued her piggy little mate, “and then we can clean out the hole and leave it all ready to store the mice in.”
 
Killer listened while the owl and , getting the bird out of his narrow pantry door. Suddenly he called: “I’ll trouble you for that robin. It’s mine, and I want it myself!”
 
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