But he was giddy and puzzled, and after struggling through some
undergrowth he sat down upon what looked like a green velvet
cushion; but it was only the moss-covered root of a great beech
tree, which covered him like a roof and made all soft and shady.
And now it was perfectly quiet, and it seemed restful after being
shaken and jerked about on the horse's back. Robin was tired too,
and the dull, half-stupefied state of his brain stopped him from
being startled by his strange position. His head ached though, and
it seemed nice to rest it, and he stretched himself out on the moss
and looked up through the leaves of the great tree, where he could
see in one place the ruddy rays of the evening sun glowing, and
then he could see nothing--think nothing.
Then he could think, though he still could not see, for it was very
dark and silent and strange, and for some minutes he could not
understand why he was out there on the moss instead of being in
Aunt Hester's house at Elton, or at home in Nottingham town.
But he understood it all at once, recollecting what had taken
place, and for a time he felt very, very miserable. It was
startling, too, when from close at hand someone seemed to begin
questioning him strangely by calling out:
"Whoo-who-who-who?"
But at the end of a minute or two he knew it was an owl, and soon
after he was fast asleep and did not think again till the sun was
shining brightly, and he sat up waiting for old David to come and
pull him up on the horse again.
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