"And haven't you got used to Billy's fairy stories yet ?" There was an obstinate look in the Child's earnest blue eyes which showed that this time the imaginative guide had told him a tale which he was unwilling to discredit.
"I know very well, Uncle Andy," said he with a judicial air, "that Bill loves to yarn, and often pretends to know a lot of things that aren't so.

But I think he's telling the truth this time.

He said he was.
It's a little owl that lives out West on the big sandy plains.

And it makes its nest in holes on the ground.

It knows how to dig these holes itself, you know; but it can't dig them half, or a quarter, so well as the prairie dogs can.