"Listen!" exclaimed Step Hen; "as sure as anything there's another!
Why, this must be what you might call Owl-land."

From far away in the timber came the plain sound of hooting. All of the
scouts knew what it was easily enough, though there had been a time when
they were real tenderfeet, and could hardly distinguish between the call
of an owl and the braying of a donkey; but camping-out experience had
done away with all such ignorance as that.

"There, don't that make you feel foolish, Step Hen?" demanded Bumpus.

"Me? Whatever put that silly notion into your head, Bumpus?"

"Why," the other went on to say reproachfully, "it was you that really
wanted to keep the poor old bird; and just listen to its mate mourning
for it, would you? I'd think you'd feel so sorry you'd want to unfasten
that chain right away, and give the owl its freedom."

"Not for Joseph, though I'll let you go and undo his chain if you feel
inclined that way," Step Hen observed, knowing full well that Bumpus did
not want to see the feathered captive set free quite that bad.
"Besides, how d'ye know that's a mate to my bird whooping it up back
there?"

"Well, if you want to find out, just you sleep with one eye open,"
Bumpus told him; "and take it from me you'll see that other owl come
winnowing around here, wanting to know why our new pet don't come when
she calls."

"Huh! mebbe I will,"' was all Step Hen would say about it; but evidently