hopefully.

“You ought not to eat anything for another week,” Aunt Polly told him
solemnly.

“Nonsense!” he cried.

“I’m a doctor; and I ought to know best,” she insisted.

But Solomon Owl hooted rudely.

“I’ll never come to you for advice any more,” he declared. “I firmly
believe that my whole trouble was simply that I’ve been eating too
sparingly. And I shall take good care to see that it doesn’t happen
again.”

No one had ever spoken to Aunt Polly in quite that fashion—though old Mr.
Crow had complained one time that she had cured him _too quickly_. But she
did not lose her temper, in spite of Solomon’s jeers.

“You’ll be back here again the very next time you’re ill,” she remarked.
“And if you continue to swallow your food whole——”

But Solomon Owl did not even wait to hear what she said. He was so
impolite that he flew away while she was talking. And since it was then
almost dark, and a good time to look for field mice, he began his night’s
hunting right there in Farmer Green’s pasture.

By morning Solomon was so plump that Aunt Polly Woodchuck would have had a
good deal of trouble finding his wishbone. But since he did not visit her