The Mystery of the Screech Owl by Gertrude Chandler Warner

cabin, so we won’t be seen.”
    They waited, watching for any movement on the still pond.
    Overhead, the moon was still mostly full, though tattered clouds drifted across it.
    Violet thought the moon looked bigger here than back home, possibly because they were away from the lights in town. She shivered, wondering if the “ghost” would show up. What would they do if it did?

    Just then she heard a horrible sound.
    Scree-eech! Scree!
    â€œWhat is it?” she whispered. “Is it the ghost?”
    Henry shook his head. “There is no ghost. The boat we found proves that human hands have been pulling it across the pond.” But what was making that sound?
    Screee-eeech!
    Suddenly the scudding clouds parted. Henry saw a dark winged shape gliding against the pale surface of the moon.
    He knew what was making the horrible sound.

CHAPTER 9
    Snowstorm!
    â€œW hat is that ?” Benny exclaimed. He moved closer to his big brother.
    â€œI think I know,” said Henry. “Let’s go back inside.”
    In the cabin, Henry went to the bookshelves and pulled down a well-worn guidebook.
    â€œAha! I thought so.” He turned the book so the others could see. “That sound we heard is the call of a screech owl.”
    â€œIs that what we’ve been hearing all along?” asked Jessie.
    â€œMaybe.” Henry paused. “I still think a person was making that noise the other night. It didn’t sound exactly the same.”
    Violet studied the picture. “I bet this is the same owl as the one in the nature journal.”
    Benny thought of something. “We keep seeing owls around here.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Jessie said. “The owl’s-head stick at the tree house … the picture in the journal … and now a real one.”
    â€œDefinitely a pattern,” Henry murmured, putting the guidebook back in the bookcase.
    Yet, the pieces did not add up.
    â€œSnow!” Benny leaped from bed the next morning. “Henry, it’s snowing!”
    Henry went to the window. “Looks pretty deep. It must have started snowing during the night.”
    Downstairs, the children quickly ate Grandfather’s egg-and-sausage casserole with cranberry muffins. For once, Benny didn’t pile his plate with a second helping.
    â€œWhat’s your hurry?” James Alden asked him with a wink.
    â€œThe snow!” Benny cried. “We want to go out and play!”
    â€œI’m afraid you can’t do that yet,” said Grandfather.
    â€œWhy not?” said Violet. She was eager to sled down the big hill.
    â€œThe sugar bush workers will have to finish the run today,” Grandfather said, carrying the casserole dish to the sink. “Do you want to help them?”
    â€œMake syrup?” This was a dream come true for Benny. Even snow could wait. “You bet!”
    After cleaning up the dishes, the Aldens dressed in jeans and sweaters, then climbed into the rental car.
    Grandfather drove slowly. The woods were a frosty wonderland.
    The guardhouse was abandoned at the sugar camp. Grandfather parked in the snow-covered lot near the sugar hut.
    Trucks prowled up and down the snowy lanes between the maple trees. Some were loaded with last night’s sap, while others carried empty gathering tanks into the woods to collect more sap.
    Benny inhaled as he got out of the car. The sweet aroma of maple sugar filled the air.
    â€œThis smells better than any perfume,” he commented as they headed for the cabane .
    â€œNo wonder people eat pancakes all day long,” Violet said with a giggle. “The syrup smell makes them hungry!”
    Inside the sugar hut, workers scurried back and forth, checking thermometers, pouring syrup into tins, turning valves connected to vats of simmering sap.
    Marie-Louise, their guide from their first visit, waved when she saw the Aldens. Today she wore her long red hair tied back. An apron covered her