Читать книгу The Bad Little Owls онлайн

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“I can’t talk to him,” sniffed Watch. “Anyway, the best thing is that blue mud you put on Tad’s nose. Where do you find it?”

“Right in the bank here,” said Doctor Muskrat, giving a scratch with his paw to show him. And Louie didn’t need any more telling. He knew about that mud himself—his mother had put some on a bee-sting. So he scooped out a good handful and slapped it on his bite. Then he did feel better. He felt well enough to remember that he was so sleepy he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Over by his tent there were just as many beetles as ever, buzzing over his lantern. They were still fighting it, and the little skunks were still catching them. They couldn’t eat another one, but they thought it was fun to jump up and bat them. But Louie could see they’d never in the world catch them all. The only thing for him to do was to turn out his light and then the rest of the bad buzzwings would go back to the marsh where they belonged. “Pouff!” My, how dark everything was!

“Oh-h!” sighed Tad Coon in a sorry voice; “he killed it! What did he do that for? It bit me, all right, but I didn’t want it killed. And the buzzwing was the one who bit him. I saw it.” You see he thought the flame was alive.