Then the old fellow, with a growl, replies,--"Get out, get out, get out,"
--and forthwith, with a rush, and a splash, and a dash, they raise a chorus
of whirring, grating, growling, grunting, whistling sounds, which make you
hold your ears. When all this hubbub has lasted some minutes, there is a
pop, and a splash, and down go all the heads under the weeds and mud; and
after another pause, up comes the old father of the frogs, and begins
again with the old story--"Go to bed, go to bed, go to bed," and so on.
During the heat of the day, the bull-frogs are silent; but as the day
declines, and the air becomes cooler, they re-commence their noisy chorus.

I suppose these sounds, though not very pleasant to the ears of men, may
not be so disagreeable to those of wild animals. I dare say neither Nimble
nor Silvy were in the least annoyed by the hoarse note of the bull-frog;
but gambolled as merrily among the boughs and fresh dewy leaves, as if
they were listening to sweet music, or the songs of the birds.

The summer passed away very happily; but towards the close of the warm
season, the squirrels, Nimble and Silvy, resolved to make a journey to the
rocky island on Stony lake, to see the old squirrels, their father and
mother. So they started at sunrise one fine pleasant day, and travelled
along, till one cool evening, just as the moon was beginning to rise above
the pine-trees, they arrived at the little rocky islet where they first
saw the light; but when they eagerly ran up the trunk of the old oak-tree,
expecting to have seen their old father and mother, they were surprised
and terrified by seeing a wood-owl in the nest.

As soon as she espied our little squirrels, she shook her feathers, and
set up her ears--for she was a long-eared owl--and said, "What do you want
here?--ho, ho, ho, ho!