At all events another couple were careering about, the moth noisily brushing its wings against wall and ceiling, the bat silently on its fine soft leather wings, but uttering a fine squeak now and then, so thin, and sharp, and shrill that, compared to other squeaks, it was as the point of a fine needle is to that of a tenpenny nail.
The beetle had got over the stunning blow it had received, to some extent, and had carefully folded up and put away its gauzy wings beneath their hard horny cases, deeming that he would be better off and safer if he walked for the rest of the night, and after a good deal of awkward progression he came to the side of the bed.
It was a hot night, and some of the clothes had been kicked off, so that the counterpane on Tom's side touched the floor.

In contact with this piece of drapery the beetle came, and began to crawl up, taking his time pretty well, and finally reaching the bed.
Here he turned to the left and progressed slowly till he reached the pillow, which he climbed, and in a few more moments found himself in front of a cavern in a forest--a curiously designed cavern, with a cosy hole in connection with certain labyrinths.
This hole seemed just of a size to suit the beetle's purpose, and he proceeded to enter for the purpose of snuggling up and taking a good long nap to ease the dull aching he probably felt in his bruised head.
But, soundly as Tom Tallington slept, the scriggly legs of a beetle were rather too much when they began to work in his ear, and he started up and brushed the creature away, the investigating insect falling on the floor with a sharp rap.
Tom sat listening to the sounds which came through the window and heard the splashing of water in the distance, and the pipings and quackings of the wild-fowl; but as he leaned forward intently and looked through the open window at the starry sky, there were other noises he heard which made him think of sundry occasions at home when he had been awakened by similar sounds.
After a few moments he lay down again, but started up directly, got out of bed, and went to the window to listen.
The next minute he was back at the bed-side.
"Dick," he whispered, shaking him; "Dick!" "What is it ?" "There's something wrong with the horses." "Nonsense!" "There is, I tell you.

Sit up and listen." "Oh, I say, what a nuisance you are! I was having such a dream!" Dick sat up and listened, and certainly a sound came from the yard.
He jumped out of bed and went with Tom to the open window, but all was perfectly still round the house, and he was about to return to bed when a dim shadowy-looking creature flew silently across the yard.
Dick uttered a peculiar squeak which was so exactly like that of a mouse that the bird curved round in its flight, came rapidly up toward the window, and hovered there with extended claws, and its great eyes staring from its full round face.
The next moment it was flying silently away, but another shrill squeak brought it back to hover before them, staring in wonder, till, apparently divining that it was being imposed upon, it swooped away.
"What a big owl!" said Tom in a whisper.

"There! Hear that ?" Dick did hear _that_! A low whinnying noise, and the blow given by a horse's hoof, as if it had stamped impatiently while in pain.
Directly after there was a mournful lowing from the direction of the cow-house, followed by an angry bellow.
"That's old Billy," said Dick.

"What's the matter with the things! It's a hot night, and some kind of flies are worrying them.