on't mention it," said the Owl and, spreading his wings, soared away
into the tree.

A moment later Andy was beside her.

[Illustration: Owl spread his great wings and carried Andy to earth.]

"If you cross the strawberry field and the raspberry patch," the Owl
suggested, "you'll come to a path that goes by the house. If you can
get by that unseen, perhaps you can escape."

"What house?" Hortense asked.

The Owl ruffled out his feathers fiercely.

"The house where that miserable Cat lives with the bright thing," said
he.

The Owl flew away and Andy and Hortense started to run across the
strawberry field, stopping now and then to eat the ripe, sweet berries.
In the middle of the field they noticed something black. Its presence
frightened them, and they feared to go close to it. However, it did not
move for some moments, and cautiously they drew nearer. It was Lowboy,
fast asleep.

Hortense shook him and he opened his eyes.

"Get up and come home," said Hortense. But Lowboy would not move.

"I've eaten so many strawberries that I can't budge," said he.

"Then we'll have to leave you," Hortense replied.

"There are worse fates than fifteen years of such strawberries," said
Lowboy. "Perhaps, though, I'll get away sometime and find the road
home."

"Where's Highboy?" Hortense demanded.

"Over there in the raspberry patch," said Lowboy, "but I fear he's in
as bad shape as I am."

And so it proved, for when they came upon Highboy in the middle of the
patch he was seated on the ground, lazily picking berries from the
stems about his head.

"Get up and come with us," Hortense commanded.

Highboy shook his head.

"I must serve my sentence," said he. "After that, if I'm not turned
into a raspberry tart, I'll try to find my way home. The only thing is
that I find it hard to write poetry when I've eaten so much. Poetry
should be written on an empty stomach. I can't think of a rhyme for
raspberry."

"I don't believe there is one," said Hortense. "What difference does it
make, anyhow?"

"Ah," said Highboy, "you're not a poet and don't know what it is to
want a rhyme."

So Andy and Hortense sadly left him and by and by came to the other
side of the raspberry patch and to the path of which the Owl had
spoken.

"I suppose we must try to reach home this way," said Hortense, "for we
daren't go by the Little People again."

"One way is about as bad as another," Andy agreed.

"If we meet Jeremiah and Grater,