All the animals had now told a story except Too-Too, the , and the pushmi-pullyu. And the following night, a Friday, it was agreed that they should toss a coin (the Doctor's penny that had a hole through it) to see which of these two should tell a tale. If the penny came down heads it was to be the pushmi-pullyu, and if it came down tails it was to be Too-Too's turn.  
The Doctor span the penny and it came down tails.
 
 
"All right," said Too-Too. "Then that makes it my turn, I suppose. I will tell you a story of the time—the only time in my life—that I was taken for a fairy. Fancy me as a fairy!" the little round owl. "Well, this is how it happened: One October day, toward evening, I was wandering through the woods. There was a wintry tang in the air and the small, furred animals were busy among the dry, rustly leaves, nuts and seeds for food against the coming of snow. I was out after shrew mice, myself—a I was extremely fond of at that time—and while they were busy they made easy hunting.
 
"In my travels through the woods I heard children's voices and the barking of a dog. Usually I would have gone further into the forest, away from such sounds. But in my young days I was a curious bird and my curiosity often led me into many adventures. So instead of flying away, I went toward the noises I heard, moving cautiously from tree to tree, so that I could see without being seen.
 
"Presently I came upon a children's picnic—several boys and girls having supper in a of oak trees. One boy, much larger than the rest, was teasing a dog. And two other children, a small girl and a small boy, were objecting to his cruelty and begging him to stop. The wouldn't stop. And soon the small boy and girl set upon him with their fists and feet and gave him quite a fine drubbing—which greatly surprised him. The dog then ran off home and presently the small boy and girl—I found out afterwards they were brother and sister—wandered off from the rest of the picnicking party to look for mushrooms.
 
"I had admired their spirit greatly in punishing a boy so much bigger than they were. And when they wandered off by themselves, again out of curiosity, I followed them. Well, they traveled quite a distance for such small folk. And presently the sun set and darkness began to creep over the woods.
 
"Then the children thought to join their friends again and started back. But, being poor woodsmen, they took the wrong direction. It grew darker still, of course, as time went on, and soon the youngsters were tumbling and stumbling over roots they could not see and getting pretty lost and tired.
 
"All this time I was following them secretly and noiselessly overhead. At last the children sat down and the little girl said:
 
"'Willie, we're lost! Whatever shall we do? Night is coming on and I'm so afraid of the dark.'
 
"'So am I,' said the boy. 'Ever since Aunt Emily told us that spooky story of the " in the Cup-board" I've been scared to death of the dark.'
 
"Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. Of course, you must realize that was the first time I had ever heard of any one's being afraid of the dark. It sounds ridiculous enough to all of you, I suppose, but to me, who had always preferred the cool, calm darkness to the glaring, vulgar daylight, it seemed then an almost unbelievable thing that anyone could be afraid merely because the sun had gone to bed.
 
"Now, some people have an idea that bats and can see in the dark because we have some kind of eyes. It's not so. Peculiar ears we have—but not eyes. We can see in the dark because we practise it. It's all a matter of practice—the same as the piano or anything else. We get up when other people go to bed, and go to bed when other people get up, because we prefer the dark; and you'd be surprised how much nicer it is when you get used to it. Of course, we owls are trained by our mothers and fathers to see on very dark nights when we are quite young. So it comes easier to us. But anybody can do it—to a certain extent—if they only practise.
 
"Well, to return to the children: There they were, all fussed and worried and scared, sitting on the ground, weeping and wondering what they could do. Then, remembering the dog and knowing they were kind to animals, I thought I would try to help them. So I popped across into the tree over their heads and said in the kindliest, gentlest sort of a voice 'Too-wit, Too-hoo!'—which means in owl language—as you know—'It's a fine night! How are you?'
 
"Then you should have seen those poor children jump!
 
"'Ugh!' says the little girl, clutching her brother around the neck. 'What was that, a spook?'
 
"'I don't know,' says the little boy. 'Gosh, but I'm scared! Isn't the dark awful?'
 
 
"Then I made two or three more attempts to comfort them, talking to them in owl language. But they only grew scareder and scareder. First, they thought I was a bogey; then an ogre; then a giant of the forest—me, whom they could put in their pockets! Golly, but these human creatures do bring up their children in awful ignorance! If there ever was a bogey or a giant or an ogre—in the forest or out of it—I've yet to see one.
 
"Then I thought maybe if I went off through the woods too-witting and too-hooing all the way, they would follow me and I could then lead them out of the forest and show them the way home. So I tried it. But they didn't follow me, the stupid little beggars—thinking I was a witch or some evil nonsense of that kind. And all I got for my too-witting and too-hooing all over the place was to wake up another owl some distance off, who thought I was calling to him.
 
"So, since I wasn't doing the children any good, I went off to look up this other owl and see if he had any ideas to suggest. I found him sitting on the of a hollow birch, rubbing his eyes, having just got out of bed.
 
"'Good evening,' says I. 'It's a fine night!'
 
"'It is,' says he, 'only it's not dark enough. What were you making all that racket over there for just now? Waking a fe............