to-night.”

“Nor I!” Fatty Coon echoed. “I’m going straight to the cornfield. The corn
is still standing there in shocks; and I ought to find enough ears to make
a good meal.”

But Solomon Owl and Tommy Fox were not interested in corn. They never ate
it. And so it is not surprising that they should be greatly disappointed.
After a person has his mouth all made up for chicken it is hard to think
of anything that would taste even half as good.

“It’s queer he doesn’t go and hold his head under the pump,” said Solomon
Owl. “That’s what I should do, if I were he.”

“Jimmy Rabbit had better not go too near him, or he’ll get singed,” said
Tommy Fox, anxiously. “I don’t want anything to happen to _him_.”

“Jimmy Rabbit is very careless,” Solomon declared. “I don’t see what he’s
thinking of—going so near a fire! It makes me altogether too nervous to
stay here. And I’m going away at once.”

Tommy Fox said that he felt the same way. And the moment Fatty Coon, with
his sharp claws, started to crawl down the tree on his way to the
cornfield, Tommy Fox hurried off without even stopping to say good-bye.

“_Haw-haw-haw-hoo_!” laughed Solomon Owl. “Tommy Fox is afraid of you!” he
told Fatty Coon.

But Fatty didn’t seem to hear him. He was thinking only of the supper of
corn that he was going to have.