Aunt Phoebe woke up in the middle of the night feeling decidedly uncomfortable.  She was nearly baked with the heat that was being applied on all sides.  She turned off the heating pad and threw back one of the covers, and as she grew more comfortable sleep began to hover near.  She was just sinking off into a doze when she suddenly started up in terror.  There was a presence in the room—­something white was moving silently toward the bed.  Aunt Phoebe was terribly superstitious and believed in ghosts as firmly as she believed in the gospel.  She always expected to see a sheeted figure standing in the hall some night, its hand outstretched in solemn warning.  But this ghost was more terrifying than any she had ever imagined.  It was not in the form of a being at all—­just a formless Thing that moved with strange jerks and starts, sometimes rising at least a foot in the air.  The hair stood up straight on Aunt Phoebe’s head, and her lips became so dry they cracked.  Then her heart almost stopped beating altogether.  The ghost rose in the air and stood on her bed, where it continued its uncanny movements.  Aunt Phoebe folded her hands and began to pray.  The ghost sailed upward once more and stood on the foot board of her bed.  Aunt Phoebe prayed harder.  “Hoot!” said the ghost.  Aunt Phoebe moaned.  “Hoot!” said the ghost.  Aunt Phoebe tried to scream, but her throat was paralyzed.  “Hoot!” said the ghost.  Aunt Phoebe found her voice.  “WOW-OW-OW-OW!” she screeched in tones that could have been heard a block.

Hinpoha jumped clear out of bed in one leap and reached Aunt Phoebe’s room in one more.  Visions of burglars and fire were in her mind.  Hastily she turned on the light.  Aunt Phoebe was sitting up in bed still screaming at the top of her lungs, and on the footboard of the bed sat Snowy, blinking in the sudden light.  Hinpoha stood frozen to the spot.  How had the bird gotten out?  “Snowy!” she stammered.  The owl looked at her with his old solemn stare, and then slowly he winked one eye.  “Stop screaming, Aunt Phoebe,” said Hinpoha; “it’s nothing but an owl.”

“An owl!” exclaimed Aunt Phoebe faintly.  “How could an owl get in here with all the doors and windows shut?”

“But I left your door open when I went out,” said Hinpoha, “and Snowy must have gotten out of his cage and come down the attic stairs.”

“Must have gotten out of his cage!” echoed Aunt Phoebe.  “Do you mean to tell me that you have an owl in a cage somewhere in this house?” There was no use denying the fact any more, as Snowy had given himself away so completely, and Hinpoha told about finding the snowy owl in the yard and putting it up in the cage.  “What next!” gasped Aunt Phoebe.  “I suppose I shall wake up some morning and find a boa constrictor in my bed.”

“I’m sorry he frightened you so,” said Hinpoha contritely, “but I’ll see that he doesn’t get out again.  I may keep him until his wing heals, mayn’t I?” she asked pleadingly.