But the imps, when they got over their start, were furious.
Flying over the owl's head, they kept screaming at the top of their voices something which probably meant 'an owl! an owl! an owl!'; and immediately every other crow within hearing took up the cry, till in two minutes half the flock were gathered in the patch of woods.

They swarmed screaming about the owl's head, striking at him with their sharp beaks and strong black wings, but always too wary to come quite within his reach.

The great night prowler knew that in the daylight he could not catch them--that, indeed, if he did succeed in catching one in his claws the others would throw caution to the winds and all be down upon him at once.

He sat there, straight and stiff, for a while, snapping his terrible beak and hissing at them like an angry cat.

Till at last, realizing that there was no more chance of a peaceful sleep for him there, he spread his huge, downy wings and sailed off smoothly to seek some more secluded neighborhood.