Up and down, up and down the tree he climbed again and again, carrying
thorns and quietly setting them in the nest, and as he went up and down
he kept whispering to himself: "I'm a gamblesome elf; oh, yes, indeed I
am a gamblesome elf."

After he thought he had put enough in the nest, he went into old
Granddaddy Thistletop's kitchen, and, crouching down by the fireplace,
he listened. It was getting to be twilight now, and the owls were
beginning to stir. Presently he heard a voice cry out: "Ouch! Flipperty
is sticking his toes into me."

"No I ain't, neither," said another voice. "It's Pinny-winny. There,
she's doing it to me, too. Now just you stop."

"'Tain't me," cried a little squeaky voice; "it's Screecher hisself.
Ow! Ow! I'm going to tell," and she began to cry.

"You naughty little owls," cried the Mother Owl's voice, "what do you
mean by digging your little sister?"

"I didn't," cried Screecher and Flipperty, together. "Ouch! Ouch!
There's something sharp in the nest."

"My dear," said old Father Owl's voice from the branch outside, "can't
you keep those children quiet?"

"Quiet indeed!" cried old Mother Owl. "Here is the nest all set full of
thorns, and you expect them to be quiet. No wonder the poor children
make a noise. Just you come here and help me get the thorns out."