"WEE TIM'ROUS BEASTIES"

[Illustration: THE BLACK RAT SAT BACK ON HIS HAUNCHES, PRICKED UP HISEARS, AND LISTENED. ]

 "WEE TIM'ROUS BEASTIES"

 STUDIES OF ANIMAL LIFE AND CHARACTER

 BY DOUGLAS ENGLISH

 FELLOW OF THE ROYAL PHOTOGRAPHIC SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN AUTHOR OF "PHOTOGRAPHY FOR NATURALISTS"

 SECOND EDITION

 _WITH ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM_ _HIS PHOTOGRAPHS OF LIVING CREATURES_

 LONDON S. H. BOUSFIELD & CO. , LTD 12, PORTUGAL STREET, W. C. 

 TO MY DEAR CHILDREN BRYAN AND WINNIE

PREFACE

For permission to include in this volume "The Awakening of the Dormouse, ""The Purple Emperor, " "The Harvest Mouse, " and "The Trivial Fortunes ofMolge, " I have to thank the Editor of the _Girl's Realm_, and for "TheStory of a Field Vole, " and "The Passing of the Black Rat, " I am indebtedto the courtesy of the Editor of _Pearson's Magazine_. 

 DOUGLAS ENGLISH. 

HAWLEY, DARTFORD, _September, 1903_. 

CONTENTS

MUS RIDICULUS 1

THE STORY OF A FIELD VOLE 28

THE APOLOGY OF THE HOUSE SPARROW 48

THE AWAKENING OF THE DORMOUSE 66

THE PURPLE EMPEROR 88

THE HARVEST MOUSE 118

THE TRIVIAL FORTUNES OF MOLGE 142

THE PASSING OF THE BLACK RAT 171

THE FOX'S TRICKS ARE MANY; ONE IS ENOUGH FOR THE URCHIN 192

[Illustration]

"WEE TIM'ROUS BEASTIES"

MUS RIDICULUS

Mus ridiculus! The taunt had been flung at him by a stout field-vole, and, by reason of its novelty as well as of its intrinsic impertinence, hadsunk deep into his memory. He had felt at the time that "Wee sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie" was but a poor rejoinder. But he knew no Latinand chose what was next in obscurity. Besides, he was a young mouse then, and breathless with excitement. 

The scene rose vividly before him--the moon shining grimly overhead, andthe mouse-folk stealing from the half-threshed stack across two fieldsinto the farmstead. 

Since that night he had never entered a wheat-stack, for fear of theleaving of it. For there are some things which, from a mouse standpoint, will not bear repetition. 

There had been a grey, slanting ghost-swish above, and his brother hadvanished skywards from within an inch of his side. He had turned to stonebefore two ice-cold eyes, and realized the honest yard of snake behindthem. A stoat had passed him with its mouth too full to snap--and allwithin two fields. 

[Illustration: MUS RIDICULUS!]

Mus ridiculus! The vole was not so far wrong after all, for couldanything, whose intelligence was otherwise than laughable, be in hispresent plight? In front of him were three horizontal wires, above himwere nine more, on either side an upright wooden wall, behind him aslanting one, whose lower extremity nipped his tail. On the floor layinnumerable crumbs of evil-smelling cheese. 

When the door of the trap had clicked behind him, he had naturally beenstartled. His fright, however, was due not so much to his surroundings--hewas used to close quarters--as to the forcible restriction of his tail. Still, the cheese was within easy reach, and he had determined to enjoyit. Indeed, he ate his full. Now, cheese on an empty mouse stomach actsas an intoxicant. He had fallen into a drowsy slumber, crouched in a backcorner of the trap, and so he slept for an hour. 

His awakening was gradual, but rude. It was due to a steadily increasingdiscomfort in his tail. It was not the first time, however, that he hadrealized that a long, tapering tail has its disadvantages as well as itsuses. As a controllable balancing-pole, there is probably nothing to equalit. As a parachute, it serves its purpose in a precipitate leap. As adecoy, it frequently disturbs the enemy's aim. But, when once it is firmlyjammed, it is liable to congestion, and this is what awoke the mouse. 

At first he was inclined to treat the matter lightly. He had been caughtby the tail often enough, after all. He tried the normal methods ofrelease. Swinging round on his haunches, he caught the offending memberbetween his two fore-paws, so as to ease it out by gentle side-shifts. Then he brought his tongue into play as a lubricant. Then he simplypulled. By this time he was fairly awake and could feel. 

It was unfortunate that a door banged above him, for, mouse-like, he leaptforward with all his leaping strength. The leap freed him, but at a price, and the price was his tail, or, rather, all that made a tail worth having. For the first half-inch it proceeded soundly enough, a series of neat, over-lapping, down-covered scale-rings, then, for the nexttwo-and-three-quarter inches it presented all the naked hideousness of anX-ray photograph. It was not so much the pain he minded as the indignity, and he surveyed himself with gloomy disgust. There was, however, just agrain of consolation. With an imprisoned tail, escape was impossible. Nowthat he was free to move, there was surely a chance of squeezing throughthose bars. He must take heart and gird himself for the struggle. Nomouse, however, if he can help it, enters upon a serious undertakingungroomed. So he sat back on his hind legs and commenced an elaboratetoilet. First he licked his tiny hands and worked them like lightningacross and down his face. This he continued for a full minute, until hiswhiskers bristled like tiny needles, without a speck of dust throughouttheir length. Then he combed the matted fur of his waistcoat with histeeth, and smoothed and polished it until every hair was a gleaming strandof silk. Finally he turned his attention to his back and sides, twistinghis body cat-fashion to reach the remoter portions of himself. 

Once, in the middle of his operations, he stopped with a jerk and sat upmotionless, save for a tremulous quiver of his muzzle. There was certainlysomething moving close at hand. Long before the faint vibration had reachedhis ears, his whiskers had caught it and flashed their danger-signal to hisbrain. It was only a cockroach, however. As it came in sight, he snapped atit viciously through the bars, and squeaked at its precipitate flight. Notthat he grudged it the cheese crumbs, but his nerves were on edge, and ithad frightened him. 

[Illustration: IT WAS ONLY A COCKROACH, HOWEVER. ]

Body, head, and feet alike, were sleek and resplendent before he caught aglimpse of his disreputable tail. He was dubious as to whether polishingwould have any beneficial effect on its appearance; but the stump, at anyrate, must be healed, and to do this he set to work with nature's remedy. Taking the stripped portion in his fore-paws--for, to his astonishment, hefound that he could not move it otherwise--he pulled it gently between hishind legs up to his mouth. It parted like a pack-thread. Somehow he feltindifferent. A rigid, lifeless tail was little use, after all. He wasbound to lose it sooner or later, and he was too old to care what theother mice might think. Besides, as the father of a hundred and fifty, hewas surely entitled to set the fashion. He licked the stump until it felteasy, shook himself once or twice, gave his whiskers a final polish, andprepared to walk out. 

He felt sleek enough to squeeze through anything--confident, too, thoughjust a trifle thirsty. It must have been the cheese, for the hot tastestill lingered in his mouth, and he loathed the sight of the remainingfragments. He flicked them into a corner and carefully surveyed hisposition. The bars stretched at even intervals, above and in front. Hetried each one separately and found that, with one exception, they werefixed and immovable. The exception was number three from the front abovehim. It was easily distinguishable from the others, for a curved wireswung free from its centre. When he gripped his fore-paws round it, hefelt it twist in its sockets. Why did that curved wire rattle about whenhe touched it? Those from which he had stolen so many dainty morsels inthe past had seemed fixtures. Perhaps he had gone too recklessly to workthis time. He had certainly been extremely hungry. Anyhow, the bar fromwhich it hung was loose--he would work that clear of the wood in no time, and so gain freedom. 

[Illustration: HE TRIED EACH BAR SEPARATELY. ]

He raised himself on his hind legs and commenced gnawing vigorously at thesocket-hole. The position was a terribly strained one, and time after timehis teeth slipped and met with a scrunching jar upon the metal. 

Then he leaped up and swung head downwards, gripping the bars with allfour feet. In this position he could at least nip the cross-piece, andworry it with his teeth. Every muscle of his small body was strained tothe utmost. The bar rattled in its sockets, slipped round once or twice, bent the merest trifle, and--jammed immovable as the others. He felt thathe was wasting his strength, and dropped sullenly to the floor. He hadnever been so thirsty in his life; yet, true to his instincts, he startedto wash his face and smooth his draggled fur afresh. 

This time it was a harder task, for his mouth was parched and tender, andhis fingers ached with exertion. Still, he managed to put his whiskersinto proper trim, and pulled himself together, with every sense alert forthe air-current which should betray some outlet. 

He explored every cranny of his prison, slowly and calmly at first, thenwith increasing anxiety and speed. By using all his strength, he raisedthe door a tail's-breadth. For fully an hour he struggled at this chanceof exit. Five times he forced his nose under the sharp wood edge, andsobbed as it snapped back, mocking at his failing strength. 

It was not until he was sick with weariness, and mad with thirst, thathe lost his head. Then he flung himself recklessly in every direction, bruising his poor body against the unyielding bars, desperate, grimy, pitiable. 

Nature intervened at length, and lulled him into a semi-conscious, dream-bound indifference. 

 * * * * *

There was something to be said for the stack-life, after all. All goodstacks come to an end, but, while they last, it is honey for themouse-folk. Picture to yourself the basement of a wheat-stack, occupiedby a flourishing mouse colony--five hundred tiny souls, super-abundanceof food, and no thought for the morrow. The companions of his youth stoleinto his dream with all the vividness of early impressions. Thelong-tailed wood-mouse--a handsome fellow this, with great black liquideyes, and weasel colouring; the harvest-mouse, that Liliputian rustic towhose deft fingers all good mouse-nests are indiscriminately assigned; thefreaks, white, black, and nondescript; and, finally, the great brown rats. 

[Illustration: THE HARVEST MOUSE, THAT LILIPUTIAN RUSTIC. ]

In the presence of the latter he had always felt nervous, but he hadrecognized their usefulness. Had he not seen four of them combine and routa weasel? In the midst of plenty they were harmless enough, at least theyhad never molested him. Moreover, they were the main tunnel builders, andit was refreshing for a mouse, who had wormed his way through two yards ofpowdery corn-husks, to find a run where he could stretch his limbs andscamper. 

And what wild scampers those were! For free, unimpeded, safe racing, thereis nothing to touch the rat tunnels of a wheat-stack. 

He was a fortnight old when he first ventured out into the unknown. Heremembered but little of his earliest sensations, only the vague comfortof nestling with six companions under his mother's soft fur, and the vaguediscomfort caused by her occasional absence. But that first journey wasunforgetable. The maze of winding burrows, the myriad eyes peering at himthrough the darkness, the ceaseless patter of tiny feet, before, behind, and on all sides, the great brown rat sniffing dubiously as it passed, thejostling, the chattering, the squeaking. He had been a proud mouse when hehad returned, and told his faint-hearted brothers what the great worldoutside was really like. 

 * * * * *

It was a bluebottle that roused him. It floundered heavily against thebars, crawled through, and brushed across his nose. No! he was not deadyet, but the bluebottle soon would be. He leaped at it, and, to hisamazement, fell short and missed. Yesterday, he had cleared a flight ofstairs with one light-hearted bound, and left a bewildered kitten at thetop. He sank back heart-broken, and the bluebottle circled solemnlyoverhead, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. 

[Illustration: AND LEFT A BEWILDERED KITTEN AT THE TOP. ]

 * * * * *

Buz-z-z-z! whir-r-r! He was back in the wheat-stack once more, listeningto the dull humming of ten thousand bluebottles. From without came thesound of heavy tramping feet, whirring wheels, rough, human voices. Thewheaten mass rocked and vibrated above his head: half the runs werechoked, and he, with twenty more of his kind, sat cowering in a corner ofthe foundations. Nearer and nearer came the voices, for the thrashing hadcommenced at sunrise, and now, as evening approached, three-parts of thestack were gone. Only once had he ventured to the edge of his shelter andlooked out. A pair of grinning jaws crashed against the outlet, andsnapped within a hair's-breadth of his nose. It was his first sight ofa terrier, and he realized that to break cover was certain death. 

Death, indeed, was very busy outside. Every minute a dog's yelp, the shoutof its master, and the dull thud of a bludgeon, told plainly enough thetale of some unhappy rodent's dash for freedom. 

And so the sun went down blood-red. 

It was midnight, however, before the remnant gathered themselves together, and agreed on flight. The trek was headed by an old brown rat. Of thedozen that survived it, he was the only mouse. 

 * * * * *

Better, after all, to have never finished the journey, and, yet, whyshould he complain? He had lived longer than most, and had had his suprememoments. 

 * * * * *

"'The mouse behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd. '"

He had been dozing behind the wainscot in the dining-room, and the squeakof irritation had been due to a passing spider. The apt quotation reachedhim through the panel. 

"_Squeaked_, surely?" The correction came in a soft, woman's voice. 

"No, _shrieked_; I am certain of it. "

"Squeaked, I think; a mouse doesn't shriek. "

[Illustration: HE RUSHED OFF TO TELL HER BEFORE HE SHOULD FORGET IT. ]

"Ah, but this mouse had a poetic licence. "

"Look it up. "

"I will. "

The book was taken from within two inches of where he sat. 

"'Shrieked' it is. "

It amused him vastly, for he had never shrieked in his life. 

"Do you like mice?" It was the first voice speaking again. 

"Hate them--smelly little things. "

[Illustration: SHE WAS A VERITABLE QUEEN AMONG MICE. ]

"Do you remember that thing of Suckling's?--

 "'Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice, ran in and out, As if they feared the light. '

"Pretty, rather, I think. "

"What's pretty?"

"Oh, I don't know--your feet, I suppose. "

[Illustration: HE HAD FOUGHT FIVE SUITORS TO WIN HER. ]

He felt disappointed. Surely it was the feet that profited by thecomparison. Still, he knew that the whole conversation would amuse hiswife, and rushed off to tell her before he should forget it. 

He had been rather anxious about her of late. Only the previous evening hehad peeped from behind the bookcase and seen her backed into a corner, anddefying six feet of solid humanity with brandished paws. Behaviour of thiskind was courageous, but unmouselike, and would assuredly get her intodifficulties. 

He found her in the midst of tiny wisps of paper, thread, and wool, thathad been her chief concern for three days past. 

"Did you ever _shriek_?" he cried. 

"No, " she replied; "but I shall do if you can't be less clumsy. "

He looked at her in amazement. Then the truth burst upon him. He was thefather of seven, and was awkwardly seated upon three of them. 

 * * * * *

She had been a good wife to him, this first. He had three especialfavourites, the first, the third, and the sixth, but it was unquestionablythe first that he had been the most proud of. She was a veritable queenamong mice, and he had fought five suitors to win her. The madness of it!He had gone from basement to ceiling, challenging all and sundry whoventured to dispute his claim. But she was worth it. All he knew ofhouse-life he had learnt from her. It was she who showed him the way torob a trap. First she would sit upon the spring-door and satisfy herselfthat it was not lightly set, then with flattened body she would stealbeneath it, and push, instead of pull, the bait. 

[Illustration: FIRST SHE WOULD SIT UPON THE SPRING-DOOR. ]

Under her guidance he learnt every nook and corner of the rambling house, the swiftest ways from garret to cellar, the entrances and exits of theruns, their sudden drops and windings, and all the thousand intricacies ofarchitecture that make life under one roof possible for both mice and men. 

[Illustration: THEN WITH FLATTENED BODY SHE WOULD STEAL BENEATH IT. ]

He learnt, moreover, from her that fighting the cat was merely a game ofpatience, and that even the human male has a warm corner in his heart forthe mouse that is bold enough to approach him. 

And yet she fell a victim to the cat herself. It was out of pure bravadothat she crossed its tail to prove that a cat with its eye on a mouse-holehas no eye for anything else. 

He, too, had been in the cat's clutches once. It was hardly to hisdiscredit. He had been with his wife at the time, had heard the sneakingfootfall, and was in the act of pushing her into shelter when he felthimself pinned down. 

The moment the cat's paw touched him he had relaxed every muscle andfeigned death. The ruse succeeded. The cat loosened her hold, and he hada two-yard run before he was pinned afresh. 

Then he was flung into the air and caught like a ball, dashed aside andcaught again, and swung, and twirled, and shaken, until he was too dazedto move a limb, and lay, a yard away from his tormentor, staring stupidlyinto her eyes. Yet he had received no mortal hurt. 

He owed his rescue to a human hand, and the hand smoothed his poordraggled coat, and pushed him inside his hole, while the cat complacentlypurred. For two long hours he lay just within the entrance, exhausted, butunattainable, and for two long hours the cat sat waiting for hisreappearance. Whenever he raised his head their eyes met. 

 * * * * *

Their eyes were meeting now. Consciousness returned to him for a fewseconds, and in those few seconds his blood turned to water, even asbefore. She sat on the window-ledge outside. Her muzzle was pressedagainst the glass, and he could trace the snarling curl of the lips, which just revealed her teeth. He cowered back as far as possible. Sooner or later she would find her way inside--and then?

 * * * * *

He had only once been actually caught, but he was very near it in thecorn-bin. Now, a house-mouse has no right whatever in the corn-bin, andyet it was a point of honour with the house-mice that they should visittheir stable relations at least once a week. It was the love ofexcitement, more than the love of corn, which impelled them. 

[Illustration: WAS IN THE ACT OF PUSHING HER INTO SHELTER. ]

Crossing the yard was always risky work, whether one skirted the shadowyside of the wall, or made a bold dash in the open. Then the simplest wayinto the storeroom was through a hole in the corner of the window-sill, and to reach this meant a clamber along a half-inch ledge, with thecertainty of falling into the water-tank if one missed one's hold. Finally, the stable itself was the training-ground for the householdkittens. 

[Illustration: THEIR STABLE RELATIONS. ]

It was not a kitten, however, but a dog that so nearly terminated hiscareer. There must have been thirty or forty mice in the corn-bin at thetime. The lid was suddenly flung open, their eyes were dazzled by theblaze of an upheld lantern, and, before they could realize theirposition, a terrier was amongst them, dealing out scientific murder. Fortunately, he, with one companion, had been where the corn was highest, and a frantic scramble had landed them over the edge of the bin and downbehind it. But, from where he lay, he could hear plainly enough what washappening. The mice were leaping in every direction against the polishedsides of the bin, missing their footing and falling back into theterrier's mouth. His final recollection was of five and twenty smallcorpses laid out in a neat row upon the stable floor. Perhaps half adozen of his companions had escaped by burrowing in the corn. 

 * * * * *

[Illustration: A CLAMBER ALONG A HALF-INCH LEDGE. ]

[Illustration: A FRANTIC SCRAMBLE LANDED THEM OVER THE EDGE OF THE BIN. ]

He awoke with a start this time, for the trap had suddenly turned up onend. The door was standing open, but a shadow hung across it, and themouse felt the shadow--_and shrieked_. 

[Illustration]

THE STORY OF A FIELD VOLE

His earliest recollections were somewhat confused, nor is this to bewondered at, for he was one of eight, and in the same hole lived anotherfamily of seven, fifteen tiny creatures in all, of the same age andoutwardly indistinguishable. 

Under such circumstances it is difficult to retain one's individuality, let alone one's impressions. Moreover some little time had elapsed beforehe really _saw_ his companions. Not that he was long actually blind, --thatis the prerogative of the carnivora, but his career commenced some feetbelow the surface of the earth, at the termination of a long windingburrow, and a full fortnight had elapsed before he eluded his mother'svigilance, and, after a clumsy scrambling ascent, beheld for the firsttime the tall green grasses which shrouded the entrance, and the blue ofthe sky peeping down irregularly between them. 

[Illustration: HIS FIRST SENSATION WAS ONE OF EXTREME COLD. ]

His first sensation was one of extreme cold, for his fur was at this timelittle better than down; Nature's brilliant colouring only dazzled andfrightened him; his tender skin shrank from contact with the sharp-edgedherbage, and, after a short blundering excursion, he was glad to scuttledown below once more. 

His next effort was more successful. His fur had thickened, and, like allgood voles, he had the sense to defer his exit until the evening. Still, even when he had reached the mature age of three weeks, the murky, warmatmosphere below ground proved more seductive than any other, and he spentthe greater portion of his existence there, sleeping, nest-making, orfighting with a companion over food. 

The making and re-making of the nest was learnt on kindergarten principles. At first he was employed in softening slender grass filaments, by draggingthem through his teeth; then he learnt to intertwine them, and sat in themiddle of an ever-growing sphere of delicate network; finally, like hismother, he tackled large, stiff grass stems, biting them into shortlengths, and splitting them, or letting them split themselves, lengthways. By the time he was a month old, he was an expert nest-builder, and, giventhe material, could build a complete nest for two inside the hour. 

On the score of meat and drink he had no anxieties. A marshy meadow hadbeen selected by his forbears for colonization. The burrow terminatedoutwardly on the bank of a half-dried watercourse, and, within itsrecesses, was all manner of vegetable store--seeds, bulbs, leaves, clover, and herbs in fascinating variety and profusion. Nor was there any lack ofgreener food. Bog-grass surrounded the burrow, and the most succulentportion of bog-grass is the most easily attained. 

He soon learned to reach up on his hind legs and gnaw the standing plant. The management of a dry and slippery corn-ear at first presented somedifficulty, but, as his muscles strengthened, he found himself able tosit up on his haunches and hold it squirrel-fashion in his fore-paws, nibbling, to begin with, at the pointed end, which is the best way intomost things. Once, as the family were grubbing together, a nut turned upat the back of the pile. After a desperate conflict, he secured it, but, the tough shell was too much for him. It takes a red vole's training toreduce a nut. 

[Illustration: NIBBLING, TO BEGIN WITH, AT THE POINTED END. ]

So the weeks passed on, and he grew thicker and sturdier and more furry. He was never graceful, like his cousin the red vole, for his face wasblunted, his eyes small, and his tail ridiculously insignificant. Norcould he cover the ground with the easy swinging jump that makes onesuspect relationship between the red vole and the wood-mouse. Still for acommon, vulgar, agrarian vole, he was passable enough, and could hold hisown, tooth and nail, with his nest-fellows. 

He was five weeks old before he commenced to go out foraging on his ownaccount. He never ventured far, but contented himself with timorousexcursions along the banks of the watercourse, crouching amid theundergrowth, and ready, at the first scent of danger, to glide withflattened body back to cover. Sometimes he accompanied his mother on hervisits to distant portions of the colony, but the old vole more often lefther octet behind, and then he would lie huddled up with his companions, waiting for the squelching sound of her footsteps, as she returned acrossthe mud, and quarrelling in anticipation of what she would bring. 

[Illustration: READY, AT THE FIRST SCENT OF DANGER, TO GLIDE BACK TOCOVER. ]

Now and again a different sound would reach the hollow--the dragging tailswish of the water-vole, or the fussy scramble of some belated moorhen. These he soon learned to distinguish from the stealthy, broken, hangingfootfall of the beast of prey. When that was heard, both he and hiscompanions would crouch together in the darkest corner of the burrow andhold their breath. 

Once such a sound stopped abruptly and close at hand; a faint foetidodour permeated from without, and he felt instinctively that the enemy wasat the gate. The danger passed, but that night the old vole failed toreturn. 

The night following the same sound came, and ceased. This time, however, the silence was succeeded by a fierce scratching, and he soon realizedthat the entrance to the nest was blocked, and that something, bigger andstronger than he yet knew of, was working its way nearer and nearer. Therewas a clatter of falling stones and earth, and the "something" waswhirling in their midst. Wild confusion followed. The whole interior ofthe nest seemed occupied by a swift-circling, curling, sinuous form. 

Small as he was, and crouching as only a vole can crouch, there was noescape from contact with it. Three times the hot loathsome breath hissedover him, as he lay flattened to the ground. Then, as the lithe body sweptround, he was flung aside, and, by a lucky chance, found himself oppositethe outlet. In an agony of terror he scrambled up the shaft, and concealedhimself in an adjoining grass-tuft. He was sick, and dizzy, and bruisedall over. 

Scarcely had he recovered sufficient coolness to look about him, when theobject of his terror emerged with dripping jaws, and he was enabled, forthe first time, to form an opinion of the arch-enemy of vole-kind. 

To avoid the bird of prey, a vole need only remain below the surface; toavoid the little gentleman in black, he need only rise above it; but fromthe grim pursuit of the weasel, bent on meal or murder, there is noescape. 

Terror-stricken as he was, he could hardly help admiring the easy suppleswagger of the creature's movements. She held her broad browed head erect, the bristles pointed like needles from her blood-streaked muzzle, grit andpluck could be traced in her every movement, and, in her eyes, universaldefiance. 

Down the dark watercourse she went, twisting her lithe chestnut bodyS-wise in and out of the coarse grass-clumps. A frog leaped before her. Ina flash she had flung herself upon it, her white teeth clicked together inits brain, and she sauntered slowly out of sight, bearing her latestvictim in her mouth. It was hideous. To eat vegetables was natural enough, but to eat living, quivering flesh! A sickening faintness crept over him, and it was full an hour before he could leave his shelter. 

Very cautiously he retraced his steps to the familiar entrance, andstopped to listen. A flood of moonlight burst through the clouds, and histrembling shadow danced ink-black before him. He was a clear mark forevery kind of foe, yet he still paused irresolute. It was too horriblysilent below. A clumsy whirring beetle alighted at his feet and stumbledheavily down the hole. Another followed. He turned and fled, blindly, recklessly, anywhere to escape that exhaling reek of murder. 

[Illustration: HE STILL PAUSED IRRESOLUTE. ]

Away from the watercourse the grasses grew shorter and more slender. Itwas easy, but risky going. Small pyramids of soil dotted the ground indifferent directions, some massed together almost in circles, others atwider intervals. At the edge of one of them he stopped and commenced idlyburrowing with his fore feet. For a few inches the light, crumbling earthyielded easily to his efforts. Then the floor seemed to subside beneathhim, and he found a shelter ready made. Two narrow rough-hewn tunnels ledfrom beneath the centre of the heap. He rested for a few minutes, thenstarted to explore one of them. 

It could hardly be described as a burrow, for, at intervals, it was halfchoked with earth-falls, and he had to work his way through them. Indirection it was fairly straight. After a few yards progress he found itstermination. It opened on a larger tunnel running at right angles toitself. 

The sides of this latter were smooth and polished, smoother even thanthose of the approach to the old home. It was wide enough for two voles torun abreast in. The straggling grass-roots which hung overhead proved itof trifling depth. Indeed, the roof was very thin, in places hardly solid. Through these the moonlight seemed to filter down, forming dull bluishpatches on the floor. 

From the main road passages branched out at intervals. He turned into oneof them. The sides were rough and crumbling, and it came abruptly to anend. He soon retraced his steps, but paused when he had regained themeeting of the ways. Something was approaching along the main tunnel. Hetook the wisest course, and crouched within the shelter of the sidegallery. A crimson pointed snout, a huge paddling foot, and a darkshapeless mass passed in quick succession before his eyes, and vanishedin the darkness. 

As it swept by, the foot caught the crumbling edge of his retreat, covering him with a shower of light mould. For the second time heexperienced the sickening, paralyzing agony of fear. This was succeeded byan irresistible impulse to break cover. He sprang into the main shaft oncemore, determined to take advantage of the first outlet. A shadowy blueglimmer shone before him, and he quickened his pace towards it. Suddenlythe light was extinguished, the walls of the tunnel seemed to cave inaround him, in front of him he heard a dull, choking gasp, and he foundhis nose in contact with a warm, palpitating velvet body. 

This time his nerve failed him completely, and he lay absolutelymotionless, conscious, with only a dull indifference, that death staredhim in the face. But death seemed slow in coming, and, as he lay, hisindifference changed to a fierce longing, first for a speedy end of itall, then for life at any price. Slowly and with difficulty he lifted hishead; the dark mass lay silent alongside of him, and the faint movementshad ceased. He could trace the creature's hind foot, it was rigid andcold. Then the truth burst upon him. He had nothing to fear--the ownerof the foot was dead. 

Still, he could scarcely move his limbs, for the soil lay thick and heavyaround him. After a prolonged effort he disengaged his fore feet, andstarted to scratch himself free. On one side of him lay the dead body; heworked vigorously along it. He was checked, however, by an obstacle beyondhis strength. The body was enclosed by a tight-fitting ring, and on thishe could make no impression. 

Fastening his tiny fingers in the fur on one side, and scraping with hisfree fore-paw on the other, he forced his way upwards. The soil grewlighter above him, and in a few minutes he had reached the upper air, andlay panting on the surface. 

He then tried to pick up his position. The mole-run had brought himsome two hundred yards, nearly to the edge of the marshland. Across theboundary rose a small plantation. Here he determined to seek shelter. Hehad but fifty yards to go, and started to glide stealthily from tuft totuft. 

On all sides the ground was alive with tiny insects. The larger kindsseemed mostly to be sleeping. He ran full tilt against a drowsy butterfly, sweeping its close-folded wings through half a circle, as he passed. Theysprang back with a jerk, but the insect itself remained motionless. Grasshoppers clung to every other grass-stem; their eyes were dead andstaring. Here and there he saw a spider gripping its support and waitingfor the sunrise. 

[Illustration: HE TRIED TO PICK UP HIS POSITION. ]

Once he found himself confronted by a bloated toad. The amphibian surveyedhim solemnly, but never moved. A low hiss whistled through the grass. Hecrouched in terror while four feet of grass-snake undulated by. Ashrewmouse broke cover in front of him, followed by its mate. The airresounded with shrill defiant squeaks as the two bunchy velvet ballsrolled over one another out of sight. 

So he worked his way along towards the boundary; pausing at intervals tognaw at the growing plant-stems, or to sit on his haunches and nibble somefallen seed which took his fancy. 

[Illustration: VOLE-LIKE THIS LATTER WAS, YET HE WAS NO ORDINARY VOLE. ]

It was close to the plantation that a familiar movement in the grassseemed to betray the presence of a near relation. Hastening towards ithe found himself confronted by a total stranger. Vole-like this latterundoubtedly was, yet he was no ordinary vole. Delicate chestnut fur, brilliant white feet, a whitish waistcoat, and a paste-coloured two-inchtail proclaimed the red vole at once. 

[Illustration: THEY SAT GAZING AT ONE ANOTHER. ]

In size there was little to choose between them, and they sat gazing ateach other for some moments stolid and undismayed. Yet, despite theequality of fighting weight, he felt himself somehow the inferiorcreature. His thoughts ran on the old legend of the field-vole who matedwith a wood-mouse of high degree, and whose descendants to this day bearthe marks of their noble origin. So, when the stranger turned and leaptlightly into the undergrowth that fringed the wood, he humbly tried tofollow. 

That was no easy matter, for, where the other jumped, he could onlyscramble, and on the flat he felt himself hopelessly outclassed. Still, once beyond the outskirts of the wood, the tangled thickets gave way tosomething less luxuriant, and he could sight his leader more frequently. All at once he checked himself, and, with a sudden access of naturalcaution, flattened himself to earth. He had blundered into the red-volecommunity. 

[Illustration: A WOOD-MOUSE OF HIGH DEGREE. ]

Five small active forms were gliding hither and thither among the fallenleaves. They were too busy to notice him, and were evidently working withsome method, for, at intervals, one or the other would make his wayslowly to a definite spot, and then return light-footed to his task. Heedged a little closer to observe them. Then the meaning of it flashed uponhim. They were nut-hunting. 

[Illustration: SO, WHEN THE STRANGER LEAPT LIGHTLY INTO THE UNDERGROWTH. ]

Sometimes the nut was carried in their mouths, sometimes rolled along theground, sometimes wedged between the chin and fore-paws, but, when theyreached their goal, it seemed to vanish. 

Of this there could be but one solution. The nuts were being taken to aburrow-entrance. Curiosity overcame him, and, seizing a quiet moment, heslipped down the burrow. It plunged abruptly for about a foot, passedunder a curving root, squeezed between some small root branches, andterminated in a double compartment. Three nuts hit him from behind as hedescended. 

[Illustration: HE HUMBLY TRIED TO FOLLOW. ]

To his left lay the nest, a mass of feathery grass and mosses. He slippedinto it, and, as he cleared the shaft entrance, the three nuts followedwith a rush. He lay there quiet until his eyes had become accustomed tothe semi-darkness. 

Then he perceived that he was not alone. The right-hand portion of thehollow held a lady tenant. She had her back to him, and was busilyemployed in the storeroom. He could just distinguish that the farthestrecess held a great pile of nuts, and that her business was to collect thenuts as they toppled down the shoot, and stack them in as small a space aspossible. 

[Illustration: SHE PAUSED, AND HE SAW HER SNIFF SUSPICIOUSLY. ]

Suddenly she paused, and he saw her sniff suspiciously, she swung round, and he was discovered. He had barely time to back into a corner, beforeshe was upon him, and at the first nip, he knew that he had met a bettervole. Over they rolled, scratching, biting, tearing. Her sharp, chiselteeth met in his ear and tore the half of it away. The blood blinded him, but he stuck grimly to his task. 

[Illustration: SHE SWUNG ROUND, AND HE WAS DISCOVERED. ]

Physically he was at an immense disadvantage. His clumsy movements availedbut little against the fierce agility of the red vole. Time after time hesnapped at her and missed; for, even as he aimed, she could swing herlithe body round and leap upon him from behind. Nor, when they grappled, could he retain his hold on her. Against the leverage of those powerfulhind legs he could do nothing. 

His cause, moreover, was a bad one. Was he not the intruder? and when wasever mercy accorded to such among four-footed things? His strength wasfast failing when he fled, hotly pursued, up to the open once more. Heonly exchanged one foe for four. Lacerated, faint, and bleeding, hecrouched, waiting for their attack. It was a short and savage one. An owlhooted above, the red voles rushed to cover, but he remained behind. 

He had only really felt one bite. A pair of razor teeth had nipped hisspine, and--he had hardly noticed a dozen other wounds. He was terriblythirsty, and struggled to reach a dewdrop which hung above his head, buthis hind legs were paralyzed and powerless. Gradually his eyelids drooped, and he sank slowly over on one side. It was growing very dark and verycold. 

THE APOLOGY OF THE HOUSE SPARROW

 (NOTE. --It would not be morally profitable to describe how I learnt Sparrowese. The language of the sparrow is the language of the gutter. I have Englishized it throughout. )

"I was the odd egg, for one thing, " said the sparrow. He was speaking withhis mouth full, as usual. 

[Illustration: HE WAS SPEAKING WITH HIS MOUTH FULL, AS USUAL. ]

"What on earth do you mean by that?" I replied. 

He laughed offensively. "Do you know anything about sparrows?" he sneered. 

I confessed I did not know much. 

"I never knew any one write about them who did, " he went on. "What was Isaying when you interrupted me?"

"You said you were the odd egg, " I replied. "What _is_ an odd egg?"

"Do you know what a _clutch_ is?" His intonation was insolence itself. 

"A clutch, " said I, "is, I believe, a sitting of eggs destined to besimultaneously hatched. "

"Perhaps you may have noticed, " said he, "that in our family"--his everyfeather bristled with importance, and the white bars on his wings werebeautifully displayed--"we do not confine ourselves to a single monotonouspattern of egg. "

"A string of variegated sparrows' eggs was one of my earliest treasures, "said I. 

"Well, then, if you know that much, and don't know what the odd egg is, you must be a fool, " said he. 

It is hard to be insulted by a sparrow, and, as it is, I have toned downthe expression, but I preserved a meek silence. 

"Any one, " he went on, with bland condescension, "who has seen a fewclutches of sparrows' eggs, and has not noticed that there is an odd eggin each clutch, must be an uncommonly poor observer. "

"It is not in the books, " I ventured to protest. 

"Books!" he screamed, "books! What do the people who write books knowabout sparrows? And yet, do you know that there has been more ink spiltover sparrows than over any other bird? that laws innumerable have beenpassed concerning sparrows? that associations have been formed toexterminate sparrows? that--that--that----"

[Illustration: THERE IS AN ODD EGG IN EACH CLUTCH. ]

The excitement was too much for him; he had been keeping time with histail to this declamatory crescendo. With the last effort he cocked it ashade too high, lost his balance, and landed, considerably ruffled, somefour feet beneath his own reserved and particular twig. His eye was on me, and I felt it too serious a matter for laughter. He made what wasevidently intended for a dignified ascent, choosing, with minuteexactness, the steps he had originally employed on my approach. It was afull minute before he broke the silence, and for that full minute I had topreserve my gravity. 

[Illustration: IT WAS A FULL MINUTE BEFORE HE BROKE THE SILENCE. ]

"Have you any clutches by you?" he said at last. 

I had, and fetched them. 

"Now, " said he, "look at that one, four dark and one light; look at this, four light and one dark; and at this, six light mottled, and one amongthem with a few black spots. "

I had to admit that it seemed true. 

"True, " said he, "of course it's true. Didn't I tell you that I was theodd egg myself?"

"Well, _one_ of you had to be the odd egg, I suppose?"

"Wrong again, " said he. "What you don't seem to realize is, that the oddegg is nearly always addled; in my case it wasn't. "

"Then, in your case, " said I, "there was one more mouth to feed than yourparents expected. How did they take it?"

"Mother kept it quiet as long as she could, " said he. 

"And father?"

"Father didn't find out for a day or two, and when he did, he pushed oneof my brothers over the side of the nest--he did holler for his life!"

The little beast was actually chuckling at the recollection. 

"He hung head downwards by one leg, and wouldn't let go till father dughis beak into him. "

"Brutal, " I murmured. 

"Brutal! not a bit of it. You can't feed more than a certain number ofnestlings; besides which, there wouldn't be room in the nest. As it was, Ifell out before I could fly. "

"What happened then?"

"Why, the old folks came and fed me, and helped me back again the shortestway up the bark. Brutal, wasn't it? A martin wouldn't do that. "

"Which reminds me, " said I, "that you were not born in a martin's-nest. Are trees the fashionable quarter just now?"

"They've come in more since thatched roofs went out, " said the sparrow. "It's tree or martins'-nests nowadays. "

"You do really drive away the martins, I suppose?"

"Yes, " he sniggered; "poor, dear little martins! Look here, " said he, andhis voice changed from a snigger to vicious earnest. "We sparrows are justabout sick of being accused of bullying martins. White of Selborne startedit, but he didn't know what it would lead to. Would you like to know thetruth of the matter?"

It was one of the things I did want to hear, and I nodded assent. 

"The disappearance of martins is a loss really of national importance, " hebegan, in a sickly whine. "It is a shame to see how the pretty housemartins are decreasing in this country at the hand of the sparrows, " hecontinued. "He drives away our migratory and pre-eminently usefulinsect-eating birds, even turning out the eggs of the owners and using thelocality for its own nest. "

He was obviously quoting from the pro-martin authorities, and I stoppedhim. 

"I have heard all that before, " said I. 

"There's a fair amount of it about, pages and pages, " said he; "there'sone story, for instance, of twenty or thirty martins blocking up the bold, bad sparrow inside the nest, which the said bold, bad sparrow had usurped. What do you think of that?"

"I think it is untrue, " I promptly replied. 

"It _is_ untrue, " said he; "but it isn't far away from truth, for allthat. Many a dead sparrow has been found in a martin's-nest, and many atime the entrance was too small for a sparrow to have got out of; but, still, it wouldn't take a healthy sparrow long to break up amartin's-nest. "

"What has happened then?" said I. 

[Illustration: ONE PART OF WHITE ARSENIC TO FIFTEEN PARTS OF CORN-MEAL, ISTHE USUAL RECIPE. ]

"Why, of course, the sparrow was dying when it got in. One part of whitearsenic to fifteen parts of corn-meal is the usual recipe. It is illegal, as you doubtless know, but it has the advantage of acting slowly. Ofcourse, if we _saw_ a friend of ours writhing about in the feeding-ground, we should give that feeding-ground a wide berth. "

"I see, " said I; "but what about the entrance being plastered up?"

"It is never quite plastered up, " said he; "and even if it was, a healthy, able-bodied sparrow could knock the whole thing to pieces with two pecks. No; when there are any disputes as to proprietorship between sparrows andmartins, the martins have a trick of waiting till the sparrow is out, andthen narrowing down the entrance so that the sparrow will have a job toget in decent nest material. When a live sparrow is in possession, he verysoon lets callers know it. The martins, in these cases, miss their usualgreeting, and probably conclude that the sparrow is away, whereas he isreally dead inside. That's just about the whole truth of the matter. "

"But why on earth, " I protested, "can't you build a proper nest foryourself?"

"I don't know why it is, " said he, "but the mere thought of a martin makesa sparrow feel bad inside. Why does a dog naturally go for a cat? Onething is quite certain, however. We both fancy human dwellings, and, if weleft the martins altogether alone, they would have all the best places inno time. Now, that wouldn't be fair at all. I appeal to you as a fellowBriton. We are British born and bred. We stay with you all the year round. The martin only comes to look you up in the fine weather. Then he puts onhis showy foreign manners, and you say, 'How charming! so different tothose dirty, vulgar sparrows!' but, as soon as the weather breaks, off hegoes. Now, a hard winter is no fun for the sparrows. We are glad of anyshelter we can get, and the martins' deserted nests come in very handy. Not only do we use them, but we keep them from falling to pieces, linethem with feathers, and make them into snug winter quarters. Back comesthe martin in the spring. 'Dear me!' he says, 'most gratifying, I am sure. So kind of you to act as caretaker. Why, I declare, the old place looksbetter than when I left. Of course, you won't mind my coming in at once. I've got to make my family arrangements for the season. ' 'Not quite, ' saysthe sparrow. 'If it hadn't been for me, this nest would have been down inthe last gale. I've put money into this nest, and you can jolly well goand build another. You ought to have stayed to look after it, if youwanted it again. '"

"That is all very well, " said I; "but it seems to me that there ought tobe room for both of you. "

"Well, there isn't, " said he, "and Nature has worked it out that thereshan't be, and if you write a thousand letters to the _Field_, you won'talter that. "

"Suppose the martins got the pull over the sparrows, do you think it wouldbe better for things in general?"

"You mean better for yourself, " said the sparrow, sharply. 

On reflection, I came to the conclusion that that was just what I didmean. 

"I don't believe an increase of insect-eating birds would do you muchgood, " he went on. "Suppose, for instance, the ichneumon flies weredecimated, what a time it would be for the caterpillars! How would someof your plants get on if there weren't enough insects to fertilize them?"

I felt it was time to shift my ground. "Let us get back to your earlyhistory, " said I. "What was the nest like?"

"It was in a hole of a tree-stump, " said he. "A silly sort of place, Ithink, not ten feet from the ground. Now I always build as high as Ican--just underneath the rooks'-nests, in fact. You're safe from boys;they don't shoot your nest to bits for fear of shooting the rooks'-neststoo; and there's abundance of insect food on the spot. The nest itself wasmostly feathery stuff, though I remember a piece of pink paper, which usedto tickle me. I suppose the colour of it took the old birds' fancy. Ofcourse the nest was distinct from the casing. That was the usual straw. Ithink it is the casing of sparrows'-nests that you humans object to asuntidy. "

"We chiefly object to the portion which stops up the water-pipes, " said I. "What did you have to eat?"

"Insects, I expect, to start with. At least, that is what I always give myyoungsters; then, as my gizzard strengthened, small, hard seeds; thenbigger ones; finally, corn itself. That is my favourite diet at thepresent time. Three parts of what I eat is corn, the rest is insects, seeds, and scraps. "

[Illustration: IT WAS IN A HOLE OF A TREE-STUMP. ]

"You can get corn all the year round?"

"Oh! easily enough. In the fields, when it is growing; round thewheat-stacks later, or among the poultry--people don't shoot into themiddle of the poultry--anywhere, in fact. "

"And you really like corn better than anything?"

"There is nothing quite so nice in the world, " said the sparrow, "asfresh, young corn in the ear, which you can just squeeze the juice out ofand then drop. "

"And are you aware of the amount of damage which you do to the poor, struggling farmer?" said I, assuming a judicial severity which I was farfrom feeling. 

The flippancy was infectious. 

"A recent estimate places it at £770, 094 per annum, " said the sparrow. "Just think of that!"

"In this country alone, " said I. "You seem to forget America, Australia, South Africa, and all the other places to which you have been unhappilyintroduced as an insecticide. "

"You seem to forget, " he retorted, "that it was you yourselves who madethe introduction. You tried to improve on the natural balance which wasordained for this string of countries, and a pretty mess you have made ofit. Now you want to crown your folly of introducing the sparrow whereNature said it was not wanted, by exterminating it where Nature says it iswanted--and that's here. "

"I don't think any one has suggested that you should be exterminated, "said I. 

"'To lessen their numbers in our country, every possible means must be hadrecourse to. ' There's a pretty piece of grammar for you. "

He was obviously quoting again. 

"You couldn't exterminate me if you tried, and, therefore, you veryproperly don't suggest it. I have been called the Avian Rat, and I _am_the Avian Rat. You can no more get rid of me than you can of myfour-footed counterpart. It would be a bad day for you if you could. "

"But you must admit that both you and the rat are increasing in numbers, and, therefore, in destructiveness. What is to be the end of it?"

"The end of it will be that you will preserve our enemies instead ofshooting them at sight. "

"Meaning?"

"Hawks, owls, weasels, and so on. "

"But hawks would never come near the towns?"

"We aren't in town the whole year round. Even the cockneyest of sparrowshas his month or two in the cornfields. I don't mind telling you that oneof the reasons we have for clinging to human habitations is that we arethus sure of sanctuary. Our natural enemies will always be welcomed with agun. They know that, too, and keep away. Make it an offence to kill a birdor beast of prey, and you will see a difference in the rats andsparrows. "

"What about the pheasants?" said I. 

"There would be fewer pheasants, " said the sparrow; "and, if you only knewit, they would taste better, if there were. "

[Illustration: YOU HAVE BEEN SHOT AT. ]

"Sparrow, " said I, "to speak disrespectfully of the battue places you atonce outside the pale. You _are_ an Avian Rat. You _do_ consume aninordinate quantity of corn. Since history began you have been an impudentparasite on man. As a hieroglyphic character you signified the enemy. Choleric old gentlemen have been roused to frenzy over your misdeeds. Youhave been shot at, trapped, poisoned, netted. Like the chafers, you havebeen excommunicated. You have been made into a yearly tribute, by thethousand. Laws have been enacted to compass your destruction, letters havebeen written to the _Field_, and yet--and yet--an inscrutable Providencehas decreed that you shall survive, increase, and multiply. What _good_ doyou do?"

[Illustration: TRAPPED. ]

"Have you ever heard me sing?" said the sparrow. 

"Sing!" I cried; "that sempiternal twitter, that intolerable chirrup thatdestroys the best and latest hours of sleep! Do you call that singing?"

"What bird would you prefer?" he blandly inquired. 

I considered for a moment. The grim possibility of ten thousandnightingales yodelling in chorus, of ten thousand skylarks, or of tenthousand cuckoos, determined my answer. 

"I cannot think of one, " said I. "But this is no merit on your part, it ismerely a qualification of evil. "

[Illustration: NETTED. ]

"I thought you would acknowledge _that_, " said the sparrow. "But, seriously, you ask me what good I do, and I will tell you. That my infantfood consisted entirely of insects and caterpillars you already know. Turnthe statistician to work who has so cunningly reduced my corn-depredationsto pounds, shillings, and pence, and he will assuredly find that theinsects devoured by the infant sparrow population in a year will amount tohundreds of millions. These, mind you, are insects large enough to bebrought to us in our parent's beaks. 

[Illustration: AVIAN RAT, INDEED! RATHER AVIAN SCAVENGER!]

"But what of the insect eggs devoured by us in winter, when most of yourpretty insect-eating birds have flown to where the insect is commoner, fatter, and fuller-flavoured? It is we stay-at-home British birds thatreally keep the insects down. I know that insect eggs do not appear in ourpoor dissected gizzards. How should they? How would you recognize theirremains, O sapient sparrow-shooters? But they are there, for all that. Those blessed with eyes can see us hunting for them in the fallen leaves, among the garbage, in the crannies of the very pavement. 

[Illustration: I FELT ASHAMED. ]

"What, again, of weed seeds in general, and knotgrass in particular? AvianRat, indeed! rather Avian Scavenger, who draws his hard-earned pay incorn. Can you grudge him a few paltry millions? Would you exterminate himbecause in your blindness you only note the debit side? There is a Powerbehind the sparrow. It is Nature herself, and against Her fixed resolvenothing avails. "

He had worked himself into an incoherent frenzy; but, even as he relapsedfrom this fierce air of consequence to his vulgarian self, I feltashamed. 

THE AWAKENING OF THE DORMOUSE

He lay face downwards--two tiny fists tight-clenched against his cheeks, his feet curled up to meet them, his tail swung gracefully across hiseyes. 

Nine weeks had he lain thus, self-entombed. Within the hollow of the oldhazel-stump he had fashioned a rough sphere of honeysuckle bark; withinthis, again, a nest of feathery grass stems. He had put the roof on lastof all. 

A winter sunbeam pierced the screen of woodbine, and, for a moment, shedthe warmth of springtime on the nest. His whiskers gave a feeble flickerin response. Next day the treacherous radiance lingered. He unclenched onefist, and wound four tiny fingers round a grass-stem. On the fourth day hehalf-opened his eyes (even half-opened they were beautiful), and sat up, dazed and blinking. The sunbeam had reached his heart. 

[Illustration: "WHAT, AWAKE?" SHOUTED THE SQUIRREL. ]

Yet it was a full hour before he was conscious that he lived. At first hefelt nothing but a dull quickening throb within his body. His feet andhands were ice-cold, and he swayed from side to side, feeling for hisstrength. Then came the pricking of ten thousand tiny needles in hislimbs. His heart beat as though it would burst its prison. His wholeframe quivered. His bristles stood stiff-pointed from their roots. As theheart-throb slowed, his muscles slackened and obeyed his will, but yet hefelt that something was amiss. Before him danced a yellow quivering haze, his feet were heavy and awkward, his chest ached as he breathed, and hewas cold, oh, so cold! It was no easy matter to reach the nest-top. Heclimbed mechanically upwards, digging his toes into the meshwork of thesides, and sobbing from sheer weakness as he climbed. 

He made a small parting in the roof, and peeped out. It was only for amoment, for he fell back stunned and blinded by the glare. Still, in thatmoment, he had caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar world, leafless, lifeless, silent, miserable. He tucked his nose between his four paws, swung his tail across his eyes, and waited patiently for the darkness. With the darkness came the cold. It stole upon him gently, quelled theheart-throb, reclenched the tiny fists, and lulled him to forget. 

 * * * * *

It was better the next time. The old hazel was making coquettish effortsto renew its youth. It had hung its last remaining shoot with dancingcatkins. Here and there lurked a crimson bud, ready to catch the floatingpollen. On the sloping banks below were splotches of violet and primrose, and, over all, hung the green shimmer of spring. 

To the dormouse's eyes the glare was, for the first few moments, aspainful as before, but this time it was tempered with moisture. Greatrain-drops swung on the swaying grass-stems and twinkled with a thousandprismatic colours. The slow drip of the woods resounded in his ears. 

As his hearing sharpened, the old familiar sounds returned, the chirpingof the titmice, the starling's discord, the sniggering of the robin, thesquirrel's bullying cough. How he had hated the squirrel--a midgetincarnation of mischief, whose whole life was spent in practical joking. How often had he heard that hateful cough shot into his ear, as My LadyShadowtail whisked past him, a sinuous brown flash curling round the treetrunk! How often had he promptly dropped his hard-earned nut inconsequence, only to see it seized by a field-mouse! How often had heswung at the end of a tapering twig, while the squirrel feinted at himwith all four paws!

He looked up, and caught the squirrel's eye. 

"What, awake?" she shouted. "It's not quite time for good little dormice. You wait till it's dark, and see how cool it is. Why, even with my tail(and she bent it into a figure of eight to show its amplitude) it is hardenough to keep warm. "

[Illustration: MY LADY SHADOWTAIL. MOTHER!]

"Chuc!"

The dormouse had felt it coming, and had discreetly retired. As it was, the better part of the roof caved in, the result of slight mistiming onthe part of the squirrel. 

"I wish you wouldn't do that, " said the dormouse. 

He was addressing vacancy, for the squirrel had in the mean time completedthe circuit of three tree-tops. She was back again, however, in time tocatch the next remark. 

"Have you any nuts?" said the dormouse. "I feel most horribly hungry, andthis light is very trying to my eyes. It will have to be darker before Ican hunt for any myself. "

"You'll be asleep two hours before it's dark, " said the squirrel, "and Ihaven't any nuts, or rather, I haven't the least idea where I put them. Didn't you make a store?"

"Only a small one--seeds, I think, " said the dormouse. "I was very drowsywhen I made it, and I daren't hope that it is in good order. "

"Where is it?" said the squirrel. 

"The second hazel on the left, " said the dormouse; "the third hollow fromthe top. "

The second hazel on the left was twenty yards away. Before the dormousehad finished speaking the squirrel had started, and the boughs by whichshe reached it were still quivering as she returned. 

"There's your store. "

The dormouse looked up, and gave a dolorous squeal of disappointment. Astraggling nosegay was being thrust through the roof, and he realized atonce that the seeds had sprouted. 

"Why didn't you nibble the ends off?" said the squirrel. "You can't expectseeds to be seeds for ever. Oh, it's your first hibernation, is it? Well, you'll know better next time. Here's a nut for you. " She had held itconcealed in her palm, and produced it like a conjuror. 

"She's not such a bad sort, after all, " thought the dormouse, as heproceeded to examine the nut. 

It was a hard nut, and would take some getting through. He sat back on hishaunches, grasped it in his eight little fingers, gave it a twirl or two, and commenced gnawing three strokes a second. He gnawed for two minuteswithout a break. 

It was harder than any other nut he remembered. He had never been morethan a minute getting through one; sometimes they had obligingly split inhalf before he had fairly started. He tried another part, and worked evenmore vigorously than before. 

Assuredly it was the very hardest nut in all the world. Twenty minutes'hard work produced a small round hole, ten minutes more enlarged it sothat he could thrust his lips inside. Then he sucked vigorously to securethe kernel, and secured instead a mouthful of black dust. 

Of course the squirrel had known it all along. It did not need the guffawhe heard above to tell him that. This time he did not even protest. Hisspirit was broken. He was cold and tired and hungry. He merely huddled ina corner, still grasping the nut, and breathing in queer short gasps. 

"Never mind, dormouse, " shouted the squirrel, "you will know a bad eggnext time. Try this. "

For five seconds there was a faint rasping sound, then a sharp crack, andthe rustle of two half-nutshells through the leaves. One of them struckthe side of the hazel-stump and bounded off like an elastic ball. Beforethe dormouse had collected his wits, a fine kernel was thrust through thenest and the squirrel had once more regained her bough. 

"Eat it, " she shrieked; "eat it before the sun goes down. It's going now. "

And it was. Before a quarter of the kernel was accounted for, the westernsky had turned to lurid orange; before the half was gone, the chill struckhim. The nut dropped from his nerveless hands, his limbs tightened, hisears sank into his skin, his eyelids drooped, and he was asleep once more. 

 * * * * *

The primroses had long yielded pride of place to the daffodils; these inturn had paled before the marsh marigolds, but the most glorious yellow inthe picture was the Sulphur Butterfly. He zigzagged lightly down thehedgerow, catching the sunshine at every turn, and the marigolds droopedtheir heads at the sight of him. Close to the nest he dropped on abriar-leaf, like a floating petal. He was more than colour now--he wasform. For a full minute he poised there motionless, the most exquisitelygraceful, the most exquisitely coloured of all our butterflies, and, fora full minute, the dormouse watched him. 

Next came a quivering, amber-tinted flight, resolved at rest into adelicate medley of green and white and saffron. It was the orange-tip, and the dormouse rejoiced, for the orange-tip meant spring. Such daintyfrailty could never stand the winter. 

To tell of all he heard and saw that day would fill a book. At first, ashe peered through the crevices, he only grasped the more vivid tints--theazure of the hyacinth, the roseblush of the almond, the crimson glow ofthe clover, the purple of the foxglove. Then, as his senses quickened, thewhole glorious colour-scale, from ashbud to whitethorn, stood revealed. 

From heaven above came the skylark's defiant challenge; from earthbeneath the fussy scream of the blackbird; on all sides the tweetings, twitterings, chirrupings, chirrings and pipings of petulant finches, and, in tender modulation to the avian chorus, the deep-throated, innumerable, drowsy hum of insects. Colour and sound, love and war, it was springindeed. 

[Illustration: IT WAS THE ORANGE-TIP. ]

For the dormouse, one tiny penetrating note dominated all. He knew thatthe singer of that note was four-footed. Have you ever heard a cricket'sserenade? It was something like that. Have you ever heard a tree-creepertalking to itself? It was something like that also. He looked down andsaw, as he expected, a round fur ball rolling in and out the grass-stems. At times the ball sat up and sniffed. He knew the puny fists and taperingsnout at once. It was the shrewmouse. "Shrewmouse!" he cried, "is ittime?" But the shrewmouse had crouched to dodge the shadow of a passingbird, and he saw him no more. However, he had seen enough. He stretchedhis hands and feet as though he would rack them from their sockets. LikeTennyson's rabbit, he fondled his harmless face in the most elaborate oftoilets, then he took one nibble at the remnant of the squirrel's nut, and dropped off to sleep till the twilight. 

[Illustration: BEFORE HIM LAY THE TWILIGHT WORLD HE LOVED. ]

[Illustration: "FIGURE SOMEWHAT STOUT, " SAYS THE BOOK. ]

It is time to describe him. 

"Figure somewhat stout, " says the book, "a single pair of pre-molars ineach jaw, first toe of the fore-foot rudimentary, tail cylindrical, " etc. The dormouse was anything but stout--six months' fasting, save for half anut, had effectually restrained any tendency that way. No doubt in otherrespects he was in fair accordance with museum pattern, but he differed inone essential particular--he was alive. 

[Illustration: HIS EYES? NOR PEN NOR CAMERA CAN PRESENT THEM. ]

His colour? When he had first retired to rest he had closely resembled ayoung red vole, buff grey all over save for his white waistcoat and thehair-parting along his back and down the ridges of his limbs. This was adelicate auburn. During his sleep the auburn had overspread his back, softened into cream colour on his sides, and thence into a pure whitefront. Ages ago his ancestors had been white all over; now, amid changedsurroundings, the white only lingered where it was least conspicuous. 

His eyes? Nor pen nor camera can present them. Imagine a black pearlimprisoning a diamond; imagine a dewdrop trembling on polished jet; addto these beauties _life_, and you will have the dormouse eye. 

His tail? Distichous, say the books. Feathers are mostly distichous, hair-partings are distichous, the moustache is distichous. So is thedormouse tail; but the hairs along it do more than merely part. Theycurl, upwards from the root, downwards to the point, and form a plume. 

The plume is a natural parachute, not so obvious, perhaps, as in thesquirrel's case, but, weight for weight, of equal service. 

His feet? Ten toes behind and eight before, sharp-pointed toes that gripthe slenderest twig, and catch the slightest foothold in the bark. 

His ears? Small, say the books. Not small, but rather hidden in the deepsurrounding fur. 

Had you seen the dormouse at the moment of his final awakening, you mighthave recognized him from this description. A few minutes later and thegrey, flitting shadow might easily have baffled you. For, as he reachedthe surface of his nest, the sun went down. 

[Illustration: SHARP-POINTED TOES THAT CATCH THE SLIGHTEST FOOTHOLD IN THEBARK. ]

Before him, at last, lay the twilight world he loved. Nature had ceasedher noise and commenced her melody. From the brook below came the dullplash of the rising trout; now and then one could catch a stealthy rustlein the herbage--the beetles were abroad, ay and the mice and the beastsof prey; a hare paced by with easy lilting stride; his gentle footfallhardly stirred the dust. In the distance sounded the cry of a lost soul. It was the barn owl starting on her rounds. The dormouse cowered backuntil she passed--white--gleaming, swift and silent as a moth. 

There was no discordant note. Wood, meadow, and hedgerow were bathed inliquid blue. The very tree trunks stood out as indigo against the sky. Daisy and marigold, hyacinth and clover were attuned to the same soothingminor chord. The work-a-day world was at rest, but the sleep-a-day worldwas holding high revel. 

Before he was halfway down the stump he had caught the glint of twentypairs of eyes. The voles and wood-mice had waited, like himself, until theowl had passed. Before each tuft of grass now stood its latest tenant. From beneath the root of a neighbouring hazel came a stealthy processionof five bank voles. Each, as it gained the entrance, performed its normalround. First it sniffed for weasel, then it sat up and washed its face, then it sniffed again, finally it stole off, foraging among thegrass-stems. He saw his friend the shrewmouse scuffling with its mate;he saw the wood-mice nut-grubbing; he saw the night reunion of thestump-tailed voles; but the first of his own kind that he saw was mother. 

[Illustration: IT WAS THE SAME SOFT FUR THAT HE HAD NESTLED IN LAST YEAR. ]

[Illustration: ONCE MORE HE FELT THE MAGIC PULSE OF LIFE WITHIN HIM. ]

He had swung himself to the top of a broken twig, and, as he looked down, perceived her climbing stiffly up towards him. Mother had aged since theautumn, but, when she drew closer, he knew her well enough; it was thesame soft fur that he had nestled in last year. 

Together they went out into the night. Once more he felt the magic pulseof life within him, and ran to the top of the hedge and down again twentytimes for the mere joy of running. Head upwards he flew, head downwards, backwards, forwards, sideways. Sometimes he paused for a moment, lightlybalanced on a branch end, then swung himself to the next friendlyprojection. Sometimes there was no pause. In one easy unbroken course hetravelled to the end, cleared the intervening gap, and landed on theneighbouring branch below. He never missed, he never stumbled; for hewas tumbler and wire-walker and saltimbanque in one. 

[Illustration: HE WAITED FOR HER AS LONG AS HE DARED. ]

And mother? Mother had lost some of her spring, but she had developedjudiciousness, and a fine eye for country. It was this latter which, toher son's amazement, usually kept her two bushes ahead. It was this whichmade him miss her as the day broke. 

He had been to the very topmost pinnacle of a thorn-bush; halfway downhe had leapt four feet on to a neighbouring hazel; he had looked back inself-congratulation at the abyss, and, when he had turned again, she haddisappeared. 

He waited for her as long as he dared, and then crept back subdued andlonely to his nest. Next evening perhaps he would see her again. But thenext evening passed, and the next, and the next, and he never saw heragain until the end. 

Some other time I will tell you how he passed that summer, how hefought for and won a wife, how they built a nest together and made a storetogether, of the four little dormice, and of the sad fate that befel twoof them. Here I can only tell the last scene. 

It was late autumn. His wife had already felt the coming of winter, andretired to her six months' sleep. He himself had sealed her in. 

He had taught the two small dormice how to build their nests (honeysucklefibre and dead leaf), and pointed out the necessity of getting into thembefore Christmas. He had rebuilt his own nest in the same old hollow, forhe knew that he could not hold out much longer. 

[Illustration: MOTHER WAS CLIMBING PAINFULLY UP TO HIM. ]

With every light breeze that crept down the hedgerow now came the rustleof the falling leaf. Each night he had seemed less inclined to wake, andthis night he seemed less inclined than ever. 

The sun had scarcely set before he felt chilled and uncomfortable. Towarm himself he did three minutes' gymnastics. The end of them found himperched on the same old broken twig, and, when he looked down, even asbefore, mother was climbing painfully up to him. 

It needed but a glance to see that she would not outlive the winter. Hadshe made a nest? No, she had not troubled. The hole she was in last yearwould do. Perhaps she would take his nest, he could easily build another. Most certainly she would not. He could help her to put some leaves intohers to-morrow. But that night came the first frost. 

[Illustration: BUT THAT NIGHT CAME THE FIRST FROST. ]

THE PURPLE EMPEROR

Down by the brookside the Sallow drooped her sunburnt leaves despondently. Things were at their dullest. 

Three months ago she had been a tree of importance. Her dark, slenderbranches had formed a fashionable _rendez-vous_. Each evening she had seenher golden catkins studded with opals--the eyes of soft, furry, blunderingmoths. Each day the bees had thronged to pay court to her. 

Then came Palm Sunday. Her catkins were stripped from her, worn for a fewhours in yokels' hats, and flung aside. The moths came no more; the beesforsook her for the bluebells. 

But the kingfishers cared nothing for her appearance. They nested, asusual, deep in the bank below, in a hollow formed by her roots. 

The kingfishers were always in a hurry, and their colours were fussy anddiscordant. They flashed up and down the brook like a pair of dementedfireworks. The whole bank reeked with the discarded meals of theirprogeny. 

By the time the nestlings were fledged, the sallow wore its summer mantle, a down-lined cloak of green. 

The interesting event had been a diversion. Now there seemed nothing tolook forward to. 

On the one side lay the meadow-land, stretching in unbroken monotony tothe sky-line; on the other, the brook; beyond its wooded bank, moremeadow-land. 

The brook was not what it had been. Its waters were being drawn away tothirsty London, and herein lay the sallow's chief vexation. 

This year her upper boughs had never flowered. Summer arrived, and she hadhoped against hope. They had never even put forth leaves. 

To be prematurely bald is disheartening. This baldness was so premature asto be serious. It was the first warning of decay. 

 * * * * *

The Empress Mother came sailing over the hill, high in the sky as befittedher. Behind her, in the far distance, lay the white-ribbed downs, and, along their ridge, there stretched against the sky a thin, shadowy, brokenline. It was the great oak wood, the dominion she had abandoned. 

The Empress Mother was looking for a black sallow. Sallows there were inplenty in and about the great wood, but she wanted one all to herself; onefit for an imperial nursery. So she came with unerring instinct to thebrook. 

The air hung motionless in the grip of a midsummer noon. As she floatedearthwards in stately majesty, the sunlight flung its radiance round her, and her broad, white ribbon gleamed on its velvet ground like moltensilver. 

The sallow humbly drooped her leaves as one who receives royalty. 

[Illustration: A SMALL, GREEN-YELLOW, TRANSLUCENT CONE. ]

For an hour the Empress Mother was busy. The leaves that she honoured werechosen with the nicest discrimination, and she honoured more than a dozen. Each, as she left it, bore on its upper surface a small, green-yellow, shiny, translucent cone, rounded at the top, flat at the base, and ribbedalong its sides. 

For the rest of the day the sallow held her head high. 

 * * * * *

There were fourteen eggs in all. Six reached maturity, but we are onlyconcerned with one of them. Outwardly he was much like the others. A day'sexposure softened the yellow of his shell to olive. Save at the base hematched his leaf surroundings to a nicety. The base was suffused with afaint blush of purple. As the days passed the purple darkened to black, and shifted upwards, leaving the parts beneath it pale and colourless. Itseemed to struggle towards the sun. On the eighteenth day the shell partedat the summit, and the little Emperor was hatched. 

His youthful Majesty was mostly dark brown head. Such body as he couldboast of was tapering and greenish. But his head caught the eye. It waswell-nigh as large as the egg from which he came. Until he had fed heseemed indifferent to his changed surroundings. 

The first thing that he ate was his minute discarded shell, and, from thisslender meal, resulted disproportionate energy. He started forthwith onhis travels, outwards towards the light as far as he could go. On the leafpoint he built himself a pigmy throne of silk; and this was his citadelfor a week. He only left it to feed, nibbling the leaf edge jerkily oneither side of him. At the week's end he lost his appetite. His body wasnow of a decided green--green with the finest powdering of yellow. Abouthis waist the yellow fused into a crescent. Nine of him would havemeasured an inch. 

On the eighth day he ceased feeding altogether. He sat with hishind-quarters anchored to his throne, his head and fore legs raised fromoff the leaf, rigid and immovable. For three days he grew yellower andyellower. Then his skin split down his back, and he successfullyaccomplished his first moult. In his short span he passed through manychanges, but never one more quaint than this. 

During his abstinence he had grown two horns. They branched straight outbefore him, bristling with short spines, a full third of his length. 

He moulted once again before the winter, but this was merely a growingmoult. Until October he never left his leaf point. Then Nature herselfwarned him to seek shelter. The weather was breaking. Rain he did notmind, but wind was different. Suppose his leaf was torn from its socketand hurled a hundred yards into the field?

Leaves were falling all round him, and it was time to take up his winterquarters. He spent a day or two in reaching them, yet they were not faroff--merely the junction of his own particular branch to the parent stem. There, in the shelter of the fork, he spun himself a silken blanket, andin it he slept peacefully till April. 

Peacefully through everything, and in spite of everything. Rain beat indrenching floods against the sallow, hailstorms lashed her branches, snowenshrouded her, hoar-frost bespangled her, --the little Emperor was quiteunmoved. As the bark weathered from ebony to rusty olive, chameleon-like, he changed with it. This was the only outward sign he gave of life. 

 * * * * *

The catkins bloomed once more, and once more were rudely gathered. Withthe bursting of the leaf the little Emperor crept from his blanket. Hefound the world much as he had left it. Only the leaves were covered withsoft down, smaller, and easier to bite. He was by now a full half inch inlength, big enough to roam at large, and hungry enough to eat the tree. Hestarted on the first leaf he came to, and, in five minutes, had gnawed aneat crescent out of it. There was method in his gnawing. He fixed hisclaspers firmly to the stalk, then stretched his head as far as he couldreach, and nibbled the leaf edge backwards. When his feet reached hisclaspers, he commenced afresh. 

Before the winter he had only fed at night; now he fed from sunrise tosunset, and at night as well. He fattened steadily, and in proportion, growing more slug-like every day. His horns but emphasized the likeness. He carried them well forward, and, at his rare sleeping intervals, theylay flat against the leaf. Thus with his swollen waist he seemed to fallaway both ends. Three times he outgrew his coat. Each time he had eatentill it stretched to bursting point. Each time the process of disrobingwas the same. 

He dragged his slow bulk to some thick mass of leaves, selected theinnermost of them, and spun a web of silk upon its surface. From this hehung himself head downwards. His weight helped him, and, in due course, the old skin split along his back, and he emerged resplendent in a fresh, untarnished, elastic livery. 

Each moult was marked by some embellishment. Rusty olive gave place topale sap green, this in turn to the green of the young willow-leaf, andthis again to the green of lush grass. Nor was the change in body colourall. His sides in time were decked with slanting stripes of yellow. AV-shaped orange girdle marked his waist. Its buckle was a tiny splotch ofcrimson. His horns were tipped with russet brown, and head and tail alikewere faintly tinged with blue. 

Yet, for all his rainbow tints, Nature had decreed that he should liveinvisible. To this end she had coloured him to match his food plant. Thelines of yellow on his sides broke the monotony of green, as veins breakthe monotony of a leaf. The blue about him was sister to the blue ofsummer that played amid the foliage with quivering transparent lights andshadows. 

Nor did the cunning harmony end here. In form as well as tint he cheatedobservation. His outline, as he lay at rest, formed the most perfectoutline of a twisted leaf. 

[Illustration: GROWING MORE SLUG-LIKE EVERY DAY. FOR ALL HIS RAINBOWTINTS, NATURE HAD DECREED THAT HE SHOULD LIVE INVISIBLE. ]

Birds passed him by unnoticed. Once, and once only, the ichneumon markedhim down. 

It was after his fifth and final moult. He was just a shade too light fornature, and the ichneumon has a pretty sense of colour. She buzzedviciously through the foliage, and settled for a moment on his back. Shehad reckoned without her host. His skin was indeed dangerously bright, butit was sensitive in proportion. 

Before she could establish herself, a vicious back-sweep of his hornsdislodged her. 

Again and again she returned to the attack. Could she but pierce the skin, her paralyzing venom would quickly do its work. Then the murderous taskwould be easy. Eggs would be laid deep in the wound; grubs would hatchfrom them, and batten luxuriously on their unwilling host, sapping hisstrength, but cunningly avoiding his vitals, until they were full-fed. Asthey turned to pupę he would die, and from caterpillar, or may bechrysalis, there would then issue, in place of gorgeous butterfly, a hostof dingy hymenoptera. So would the race of ichneumons be preserved. 

The little Emperor was fat and well-liking--an ideal _créche_ for youngichneumons; but the little Emperor was very wide-awake. 

The fly could find no foothold on him. He flung his armed head backwardsto his tail. He pawed the air with six fore feet. He shook himself inparoxysms of fury. The fly cared little for the latter, but the hornswere hard and formidable. They covered his whole body with their sweep, and struck with lightning speed. 

At sundown she withdrew discomfited; the little Emperor's horns had servedhim well. 

His life was uneventful after this. When he had reached a length of twoinches, his growth ceased. He fed less ravenously and less frequently. Three parts of his time he spent in contemplation of a special leaf. Itwas hard to tell wherein lay the fascination. He had spun a silken carpeton it. At rare intervals he tore himself away and snatched a hurried meal, but he infallibly returned to its friendly shelter. He rested on itsmid-rib, facing the foot-stalk. His body was strongly arched and socompressed that the ridges of its crowded segments recalled the pile ofvelvet. His head and fore feet scarcely touched the surface. So he madeready for the second change. 

For this even the favourite leaf was discarded. He roamed about the treefor days, seeking one that would suit his purpose. At last he found one, hidden in a thick-set cluster. It hung free, but he secured it in suchfashion to its stem that a stiff breeze could hardly shake it. Hestretched silken ropes from its edges and passed them completely round thefoot-stalk. Then, on its under surface, he spun a little boss of silk, gripped it with his hind-claspers, and swung with easy confidence headdownwards. For three days he hung thus motionless, yet within him therewas a lively motion. 

From the time he left the egg his life had been a dual one. The eye sawnothing but the outward mask, the caterpillar-form. Within this livingvehicle that moved and spun and fed, lived the true butterfly--life withinlife, being within being. 

[Illustration: THE CROWDED SEGMENTS OF HIS BODY RECALLED THE PILE OFVELVET. ]

The caterpillar mask had done its work, and having done its work, mustdie. Yet one can hardly call such dissolution death. As it hung suspended, all the marvellous mechanism which had formed a moving, eating, spinning, sentient being, was absorbed into the chrysalis it covered. Merely theouter empty shell remained. 

On the fourth day this shell split cleanly at the tail, and, from theopening, the hind part of the chrysalis emerged. It jerked from side toside, to all appearance aimlessly. Yet there was method in its madness. Aside-swing forced it deep into the boss of silk, and, in a moment, thehooks that studded its extremity were fast entangled. The chrysalis hadits _point d'appui_. 

[Illustration: ON THE CHRYSALIS HEAD WERE TWO SHORT-POINTED HORNS. ]

Again the old skin cracked, this time behind the neck. The chrysalis headwas free. On it were two short, flattened, pointed horns. A jerky movementof the shoulders followed--first expansion, then contraction. At eachexpansion the old skin slipped a trifle upwards. Turn by turn the segmentsof the body did their work, until it lay in gathered folds about the tail, just as the pushed-off stocking lies about the ankle. 

But even so, the task was not completed. The skin must be got rid of. Itsdull white mass, with dangling skeleton horns, was too conspicuous. Naturehad armed the chrysalis with the needful tools, a grip attachment and aset of tiny sharp-edged hooks. The skin was fast entangled in the boss ofsilk. The chrysalis secured an independent foothold (using asstepping-stone the skin itself), spun itself from side to side, and cutthe threads that bound it. It jerked lightly from leaf to leaf, until itreached the ground. The second change was accomplished. 

[Illustration: COLOUR AND FORM COMBINED THEIR SKILFUL MIMICRY. ]

[Illustration: ITS FORM THE FORM OF THE SALLOW-LEAF. ]

Outwardly the chrysalis was nothing but an extra leaf. Colour and formcombined their skilful mimicry. Its colour was the green of the sallow;its form, the form of the sallow-leaf. 

For fifteen days it hung unchanged and motionless. On the sixteenth changewas obviously impending. The upper segments had lengthened, the lowersegments had darkened. On the twentieth day came the last great change ofall. 

[Illustration: HE CHOSE THE LOFTIEST BRANCH OF THE LOFTIEST OAK IN THEFOREST. ]

It was a normal July day. Thunder was over the Downs. Now and again greatrain-drops struck the sallow. They were few and far between, however. Thethunder was content to grumble on the hills, leaving the valley to thesunshine. For all the midday heat the air was laden with moisture. Thiswas at once both good and bad for the little Emperor, good because it madethe bursting of his cerement easy, bad because it made the drying of hiswings slow. 

Still he had no choice in the matter; his time had come, and he must makethe best of it. 

[Illustration: WHITES. ]

Barely a minute passed between the first yielding of the shell and hiscomplete emergence. He issued head foremost, groping with bewildered legsfor something to cling to. He struck the only thing within his reach, thechrysalis case itself. To this he clung with desperation, and he had needto. As yet he had no means of flight. 

There is no room for wing expanse inside a chrysalis. Material for wingswas lying ready on his shoulders, it was moisture laden, packed incrumpled folds, and lifeless. 

 * * * * *

[Illustration: BRIMSTONES. ]

The thunder passed away seawards, drawing the valley moisture in itstrain. From eastward came a gentle drying breeze. It crept from leaf toleaf with its soft-whispered message until it reached the leaf that mosthad need of it. 

The little Emperor trembled with excitement. His wings were coming intobeing. One by one, like petals of an opening flower, the clinging foldsrelaxed and told their secret. One by one the branching nervures hardened. 

By sundown the great change of all was over. The Emperor, no longerlittle, was fit to mount his throne. Westward, as if in sympathy, the skywas flooded with imperial purple. 

 * * * * *

He chose the loftiest branch of the loftiest oak in the forest. Before himstretched an acre of clearing, thronged with his subjects. Every class wasrepresented, or rather every class but one. Ages ago the Swallow taildisputed sovereignty with the Purple Emperor. Fortune declared againsthim, and he retreated, like some Hereward, to the fens. There to this dayhe holds a third-rate court. 

[Illustration: PEACOCKS. ]

It was a brilliant gathering that greeted the Emperor. Every colour, everyform was there. Whites and brimstones, silver-studded fritillaries, peacocks, red admirals, and painted ladies, walls and ringlets, hairstreaks, blues, and skippers, even the little Duke of Burgundy, eventhe white and admirable Sibylla. 

[Illustration: HAIRSTREAKS. ]

Happy midsummer children! They flashed their dainty tints from leaf toleaf, from flower to flower, their life one long-drawn revel in thesunshine. 

From his high throne the Emperor watched and envied. He was tiring oflonely grandeur. Now and again he soared a hundred feet into the air, thenwith his wings full spread and motionless, sailed slowly back on to thesummit of the oak. 

[Illustration: ADMIRALS. ]

Never was flight more exquisite. As he rose, one caught the glint of theimperial purple; as he descended, its full glory was revealed. Nowhere innature is the pure radiant effulgence of that purple surpassed. It isthe purple of the rainbow itself. 

[Illustration: SKIPPERS. ]

[Illustration: THE WHITE AND ADMIRABLE SIBYLLA. ]

[Illustration: SHE SAT ON AN OAK PINNACLE OUTLINED AGAINST THE SKY. ]

Once, and once only, did he deign to touch the ground. Deep in the hollowbehind the clearing, where the footpaths crossed each other, a shallowmuddied pool had formed. In it the Emperor saw, from on high, his ownreflection. Perhaps it was mere vanity that drew him closer; perhaps thefancy that he saw a rival; perhaps, but this is not likely, thirst. Closeto the margin lay a rough-edged clumsy flint. On this he settled, and, Narcissus like, feasted his eyes on his own beauty. He nearly metNarcissus' fate. It was the flint that saved him. He felt the shadow, almost before it reached him, but even so he rose too late. For half aminute he, the Purple Emperor, was prisoner in a boy's straw hat. Hadthe hat covered the flint completely, he must assuredly have graced acabinet. Fortunately for him the flint was just an inch too wide. The hatlay slant-wise across it, leaving a narrow crescent outlet on each side. 

[Illustration: THE EMPEROR ALIGHTED WITHIN A FOOT OF HER, . . . AS HE OPENEDHIS WINGS TO SHOW THEIR BEAUTY. ]

An old collector would have doffed his coat to cover hat and flint alike, would have sat beside them patiently till nightfall, would have doneanything to make certain of his prize. But this collector was only a boy. With youthful recklessness he raised the brim a hair's-breadth off theflint, and, in a moment, the Emperor was fifty feet above him. 

It had been a near thing. Higher he soared, and higher, exulting in hisfreedom, and, as he soared, he sighted the Princess. She sat on an oakpinnacle outlined against the sky. Who was she? Whence had she come? Onher wings was the broad white ribbon of butterfly royalty. 

[Illustration: SHE TURNED HER BACK ON HIM. ]

The Emperor alighted within a foot of her. For the first time in his lifehe felt humble. As he opened his wings to show their beauty, she turnedher back on him; as he closed them again, she sought another tree. Butthe Emperor was not so easily baffled. He followed in hot haste, and oncemore settled on a neighbouring leaf. The Princess drooped her upper wings, as if she was asleep. But she was not. The Emperor crept along the leavesa little closer. 

[Illustration: THE EMPEROR ONCE MORE SETTLED ON A NEIGHBOURING LEAF. ]

[Illustration: THE EMPEROR CREPT ALONG THE LEAVES A LITTLE CLOSER. ]

It was the strangest courtship imaginable, for it was all on one side. From tree to tree they went, the Emperor flashing his purple in thesunshine, the Princess, to all appearance, unconscious of her suitor'spresence. Yet he tried every allurement he could think of. He circledround her, changing from purple to violet, from violet to velvet black. Hesoared above her skywards until he was a mere speck in the blue. He showedher the broad ribbon that he also wore. He even uncurled his slendersaffron proboscis, and toasted his divinity in the sap of the oak-leaf. 

[Illustration: HE SHOWED HER THE BROAD, WHITE RIBBON THAT HE ALSO WORE. ]

What made her change her mind at the eleventh tree? What had he said toher? I cannot tell you, but I can tell you this. From that tree they rosetogether, circling round each other. Higher they went and higher, untilthe oakwood shrunk to a copse beneath them; higher and higher, until thesea was their horizon; higher and higher, until they passed from sight. 

[Illustration: HE EVEN UNCURLED HIS SAFFRON PROBOSCIS, AND TOASTED HER INTHE SAP OF THE OAK-LEAF. ]

[Illustration]

THE HARVEST MOUSE

Once upon a time, and not so very long ago either, the Harvest Mouse wasthe smallest of British beasties, absolutely the very smallest. Even themuseum men, who look through microscopes, had to admit that. 

Then a Liliputian shrewmouse turned up. He was found stretched dead in themiddle of the path, and the time, as any book that deals with shrewmicewould tell you, was the autumn. He was so small that, had he not died inthe path, he would assuredly not have been found at all. 

Now, because of his smallness, and because he was found dead in the autumn(from which you may assume that he was full-grown), he was sent to themuseum men; and the museum men examined his teeth, and rubbed their handswith glee, for they found that his upper incisors were abnormal. 

So they had his poor little body stuffed, and propped him up with wire inthe way they thought he looked nicest, and wrote a brand new ticket forhim--SOREX MINUTUS. The lesser shrew. The _smallest_ British quadruped. 

[Illustration: THEN A LILIPUTIAN SHREWMOUSE TURNED UP. ]

Thus was one unique distinction stolen from the harvest mouse. But to thisday the harvest mouse shrugs his furry shoulders and says, that there areplenty of dwarfs with abnormal teeth in his own family, if the museum menwant them. 

He can afford to be superior, for he has yet another unique distinctionleft, and that is not likely to be taken from him. 

Of all the four-footed creatures in Great Britain and Ireland, he, and heonly, has a prehensile tail. The middle of it he can bend through half acircle, the last half-inch he can wrap completely round a cornstalk. It ispale chestnut above, and pasty white below. Taken all round, it is themost marvellous tail in the United Kingdom. 

[Illustration: HE, AND HE ONLY, HAS A PREHENSILE TAIL. ]

A mass of whipcord muscle, it can be made rigid, or flexible, at will. Hecan sit back with his hind feet resting on one stalk, hitch his tail roundanother, and lean his full weight against it. His full weight is one-sixthof an ounce. Were the G. P. O. More friendly to naturalists, a score of himcould travel for a penny; but, even so, his tail is trivial in proportion. 

He is so proud of it that he cleans it continually. Other mice clean theirtails at odd times--only when they really seem to need it. The harvestmouse cleans his tail as a matter of regular toilet routine, and he doeshis toilet fifteen times a day. First his whiskers, then his head andears, then his body, and finally his tail. He pulls it forward betweenhis hind legs and combs it with his teeth. It is quite worth it. 

 * * * * *

[Illustration: THE HARVEST MOUSE SAT ON THE TOP OF A STALK AND NIBBLED HISSUPPER. ]

The harvest mouse sat on the top of a cornstalk and nibbled his supper. His first summer had been most successful. So much had been crowded intoit that he could only dimly remember the oat-stack in which he was born. Even the hedgerow seemed difficult to recall. He had lived in that twomonths, next door to the wood-mouse, and from him he may have learntsomething of the art of nest-building. Then he had wandered abroad. Thefield, on the left of the hedgerow as you walk westward, was, when heentered it, tinged with uncertain green, --a sand-stained green like thatof shallow sea. Yet there was cover enough for him. In a week's time, thesprouting corn had got the mastery, shrouding with its exquisite mantlethe humble mother soil it seemed ashamed of; then, as if it had imprisonedthe sunbeams, it turned to golden yellow, and now, wearying of conquest, had borrowed the copper radiance of a dying day. 

[Illustration: THE WOOD-MOUSE. ]

It was with the first budding and ripening of the young corn that theharvest mouse tasted the true joy of living. In the hedgerow it hadbeen mere existence; for there had been no real scope for his tail. Thegrasping portion of it could only encircle the tiniest twigs. Here, Natureherself seemed to have been at pains to suit him. Whichever way he looked, there stretched before him long yellow avenues of pygmy trees. Had theybeen passed through a gauge, they could not have better suited hisproportions. He could whip his tail round any one of them. As he travelledfrom ear to ear, there was always something handy to grip on to. To reachthe top of a cornstalk from the ground took him just two seconds and ahalf. He ran up it, he did not condescend to climb. Once among the ears, he travelled with little jumps, sometimes waiting for the wind to sway thecorn, and help him, sometimes boldly leaping from the summit, and trustingconfidently to his tiny hands and feet to pull him up a foot or so below. Even if he blundered to earth he had nothing to fear, for, of all thedenizens of the cornfield, he alone could thread the avenues in perfectsilence. 

[Illustration: IN THE FIRST BUDDING AND RIPENING OF THE WHEAT HE TASTEDTHE TRUE JOY OF LIVING. ]

[Illustration: SOMETIMES WAITING FOR THE WIND TO SWAY THE CORN AND HELPHIM. ]

The stoat heralded his coming by a stealthy swish that could be heard fulltwenty yards away. Many a foolish bewildered vole he caught, but never aharvest mouse. 

The rat's approach was a blundering four-footed _crescendo_, clearto mouse-ears as is the ringing of a horse's hoofs to man. Little elseappeared at all. Now and again came a foolish hen-faced pheasant, strayedfrom its nursery, and screaming for its keeper. One was shot as it crossedthe path in front of him, but we must not say anything about that. Now andagain a corn-crake, moving in silence, bowed to the ground, but betrayedby its loquacity. Now and again a trembling glass-eyed rabbit. To each andevery footstep he had one invariable response. He ran up the nearestcornstalk, as high as he could go, and watched the author of it passbeneath him. He was rarely sighted. Once a weasel leapt at him. The weaselis a pretty jumper, but this time a tendril of convolvulus upset his aim. Before he reached the ground again the mouse was five and twenty feetaway, playing with his tail. 

Half the summer passed before he tired of these diversions. The comingof the sparrows put an end to them. They came just as the corn-ears hadcommenced to harden. There must have been a thousand. They were not inthe field all day, but, while they were there, life was not worth living. Picture it to yourself. A thousand unkempt, shrieking hooligans, pluckingat the corn-ears, flinging the milky grain aside half eaten, filling theair with the whirring of their wings as they sighted man a hundred yardsaway, back again as man departed, quarrelling incessantly, blatant, noisy, vulgar. The cornstalks were no place for mice while sparrows were about. 

[Illustration: AS DAINTY A LITTLE HARVEST MOUSE AS EVER CROSSED ACORNFIELD. ]

But the evil had been of short duration. A month had seen the end of it. During that month the ways of the mouse were humble. He wandered in andout the undergrowth, feeding on what the sparrows had discarded. Not thathe was really afraid of them. Had they cared to eat him, they assuredlywould have done so at the start. But they never missed the opportunity ofmaking him jump, and involuntary jumping is always unpleasant. 

However, the life below had its compensations. He would certainly havelost her in the waving maze above. As it was, he saw her at the end of astraight avenue, and he could more or less mark her direction. She wasrunning at full speed, as dainty a little harvest mouse as ever crosseda cornfield. 

[Illustration: HER FRONT WAS OF THE PUREST WHITE, AND TWISTED IN A DAINTYCURVE TO MATCH HER FEATURES. ]

Her coat was of the softest fawn-chestnut; sharply contrasted with herpure white front, and twisted in a dainty curve to match her features. Her feet and tiny claws were the pink of a sea-shell. Her eyes were small(harvest mice have small eyes), but they were very gentle. As she sightedhim, she swung lightly up a thistle stem, and sat for a moment balanced onthe head. Evidently he was not altogether uninteresting. 

[Illustration: HER EYES WERE SMALL, BUT THEY WERE VERY GENTLE. ]

 * * * * *

Far into the evening he pressed his suit. When the inevitable rivalmouse appeared, half the sun's disk was already masked by the hedgerow. Ungainly, straggling shadows spread across the field, dark bars across alurid crimson ground. Never was finer _mise-en-scčne_ for such a conflict. They fought on the very summits of the stalks, and the sun just managed tosee the finish. 

 * * * * *

[Illustration: NEVER WAS FINER _MISE-EN-SCČNE_ FOR SUCH A CONFLICT. ]

They built the nest together. It was his part to bite the long ribbonleaves from their sockets, hers to soften them and knot them and plaitthem until they formed a neat, compact, and self-coherent sphere. 

Nine cornstalks formed the scaffolding. Six inches from the ground shebuilt between them a fragile grass-blade platform. Then she started onthe nest itself. Her only tools were her fore-paws, tail, and teeth. Thelatter she employed to soften stiff material. The weaving she did frombelow upwards by pure dexterity of hand and tail. For six hours she workedindefatigably, and in six hours it was finished. But it was not meant tolive in; it was merely a nursery. All day long the happy pair enjoyed eachother's company aloft, leaping from corn-ear to thistle-head, fromthistle-head to poppy, and back again to corn-ear, feasting, frivolling, stalking bluebottles. Their life was one long revel in the sunshine; forthe harvest mouse has this distinction also, that, like a Christian, heloves the blue of the sky and sleeps at night. 

[Illustration: FRIVOLLING. ]

But he is wise in his generation, and lives far from the haunts of men. You must be quieter than a mouse if you want to see him. 

[Illustration: FOR AN HOUR THEY ENJOYED THE NOVEL SENSATION. ]

At night they lived in a tiny burrow, a foot below the surface of theground. They had no claim to it, but they had found it empty. Emptyburrows belong to the first mouse that comes along. 

Once only did they stay above the surface after sundown. For an hour theyenjoyed the novel sensation. Then the long-drawn wail of the brown owldrove them below in haste. 

Perhaps they realized that prey on the surface is the owl's ideal. Itis also the hawk's. But, where under-keepers are armed with guns, thenight-bird has the better prospects. Both would have their wings clear asthey strike. The owl's great chance comes when the corn is "stitched" inshocks of ten. Then he quarters the stubble, and nothing clear of shelterescapes him. 

So the summer had passed--the perfect summer that comes once in a century. Day after day the sun had blazed through a cloudless sky; night afternight the dews had fallen and refreshed the earth. The young mice, thoughpink, as yet, about the nose and waistcoat, were as promising as youngmice could be. Everything was altogether and completely satisfactory. 

[Illustration: THEN THE LONG-DRAWN WAIL OF THE BROWN OWL DROVE THEM BELOWIN HASTE. ]

So, as the western sky crimsoned and the shadow of each cornstalk gleamedlike copper on its neighbour, the harvest mouse stole down from hiseminence and sought his burrow, for, as I have said before, the nest wasonly a nursery. 

 * * * * *

He was up betimes. He was a light sleeper, and half a noise of that kindwould have roused him. It was clank and whirr and swish and rattle in one. At first it sounded from the far corner on the right; then it passed alongthe hedgerow, growing more and more menacing until it seemed to be withina yard of him. Then it shrank away to nothing on the left, ceased for amoment, and, in obedience to human shouting, commenced afresh. So fromcorner to corner, _crescendo_ and _diminuendo_. The harvest mouse was inthe very centre of a square field. 

[Illustration: HE CLIMBED BETWEEN TWO TOWERING STALKS. ]

[Illustration: IN FIVE MINUTES HE WAS UP ALOFT ONCE MORE. ]

When the sound seemed at its greatest distance, he climbed between twotowering stalks and strained his eyes in its direction. He could not seefor more than twenty yards before him. The world beyond was wrapt in softwhite mist. Never had he seen anything so uncanny. Yet, had he been anearly riser, he might have seen it often. Even as he watched it, itseemed to shrink away before the sunshine. The hedgerow loomed like amountain-ridge before him. Down he slid, making a bee-line for the nest. That was all right; but his wife was evidently perturbed. Her mouth wasfull of grass-blades, and she was sealing every crevice on its surface. Infive minutes he was up aloft once more. The whirring still continued, andnow, through the lifting haze, he could distinguish its origin. Horses itwas for certain, ay, and men--a small man sat upon the leading horse; butthere was something behind these. 

Had the harvest mouse ever seen a windmill, he would assuredly haveconcluded that a young one had escaped, and was walking in ever-narrowingcircuits, round the field. The mist lifted further, and he saw the thingmore clearly. Its great red arms swung dark against the sky, gathering thecorn in a giant's grasp to feed its ravenous cutters. Round and round thefield it went. Each time as it travelled to the distant corners the mousedropped down to earth; each time as it thundered close at hand, he dashedlike lightning up the stalk to look. Sometimes his wife came with him. Closer it drew and closer. Nor was the mouse the only thing that noticedit. All things that lived within the field, all things that loved itsborders, were crowding in mad confusion to its centre. 

[Illustration: THE MOUSE CREPT TWO GRAINS HIGHER WHEN HE SAW HIM. ]

First came the hare. His was a wild, blundering, panic-stricken stampede. He hurtled through the corn, crossing his fore feet at every second leap, his eyes starting backwards from his head, his ears pressed flat againsthis back. He passed the harvest mouse heading for the farther side, andthe harvest mouse saw him no more, for he broke cover, trusting to hisspeed. Then, one by one, bewildered rabbits. Backwards and forwards theyrushed. Now they sat up and listened; now they flung their white tailsskywards, and vanished down some friendly seeming alley. In two minutesthey were headed off. 

Among the rabbits, of all things, a stoat! The mouse crept two grainshigher when he saw him. He stole in and out the undergrowth with easyconfidence, yet in some sense unstoatlike. The mouse looked down, andfor a moment caught his eye--the most courageous eye in all the world. Something was very wrong indeed with the stoat--he never even bared histeeth. 

Next, a flurried brood of nestling partridges, flattened to earth, andpiping dismally to one another. Time after time they passed and repassedbelow him, until at last they were utterly weary, and crouched in ahuddled mass together, with uplifted hunted eyes. 

Then the rats and mice and voles. House-mice and wood-mice, red voles, and grey. Last of all, Berus the adder. Not a mouse stepped aside, as heworked his slow, sinuous length between the cornstalks. He, too, was ofthe hunted to-day. 

Nearer and nearer drew the hoarse rattle of the reaper. More and morecrowded were the few yards round the harvest mice. A large brown ratlimped through, bleeding about the head. He had come in from thefiring-line, and had incompletely dodged a stone. The stoat flung itshead up as it scented him, but let him pass. He had never let a rat passin his life before. 

 * * * * *

Only a square of forty yards remained, packed from end to end withdesperate field-folk. Each prepared for its last stand in differentfashion. 

[Illustration: BERUS THE ADDER MADE A FLATTENED SPIRAL OF HIS COILS. ]

The rat selected a stout thistle-clump, planted his back against it, andsat back on his haunches. Berus the adder made a flattened spiral of hiscoils, and raised his head a trifle off the ground, ready to fling hiswhole weight forward from the tail. The pheasant chicks ceased piping, andlay still as death. The red voles and wood-mice dashed aimlessly to andfro. The stump-tailed voles trusted to the ludicrous cover of the brokenground. The stoat arched his back and bared his teeth to the gums. Butthe harvest mice sat on the top of the stalk and awaited events, to allseeming unmoved. Perhaps they were too small to be frightened. They werecertainly too small to be confident. Yet, as things turned out, the top ofthe stalk was the safest place of all. Swish went the cutter. The nest wasscattered to fragments before their eyes, and the rush began. 

The rabbits started it. They flattened their ears, shut their eyes, andmade a blind dash for the open. Not a rabbit escaped, for there were dogs. The rats fared no better; they held their ground to the last, and weremercilessly bludgeoned. The partridges were cut to pieces. Most of themice and voles shared their fate. The stoat died game. He charged oneyokel and routed him. Then he was set upon by three with sticks. In theopen the stoat is no match for three with sticks. 

Berus the adder lay still in a hollow. The cutter passed completely overhim. He was always ready, but his earth-colour saved him the necessity ofstriking. As the evening shadows lengthened, he stole grimly from hisshelter, crossed the field, climbed the slope, and regained hisfurze-bush. 

[Illustration: THE HARVEST MOUSE'S NEST. ]

And the harvest mice? The mother-mouse dashed to her nest as she saw itfalling, and a wheel of the reaper passed over her. The father-mouse wassaved, but through no merit of his own. Until the reaper was actually uponhim, he clung to his stalk with tail and eighteen toes. Then it was toolate to leave go. The great red arms gathered his stalk in the midst of ahundred others, swept the whole on to the knives, and dropped them on thetravelling canvas platform. Up he went, and down again. For a moment hethought that he was being stifled. His eyes started from their sockets. His ribs seemed to crumple within him--fortunately they were elastic, asribs no thicker than a stout hair must be. Then the pressure relaxed. Theautomatic binding was complete, and one more sheaf fell with a thud toearth. In that sheaf was the harvest mouse, bruised but alive, a prisonerin the dark. The stalks pressed tight against his body; but for thepitchfork he could never have got out. 

The pitchfork shot through the middle of the mass, and missed him by halfan inch. Once more he felt his surroundings flying upwards, but this timethey fell more lightly. They formed the outside of a stitch of ten. As thefork was withdrawn the binding of the sheaf was loosened. He could breathewith comfort, and he could also see. He peered out, and found the wholeface of Nature changed. The waving cornfield had gone. In its place wasa razed expanse of stubble. The corn-sheaves stretched in serried pilesacross it. The harvesting had been neatly timed. Behind the hedge was thecrimson glow of sunset. After all, that had not changed. 

For an hour he waited within the sheaf, dubious and uncertain. Then hestole from his shelter. Within five yards he found her, gripping theshattered fragments of the nest. Close by lay a bludgeoned rat, and, fiveyards farther on, there sat a living one. It had its back to him, but byits movements he could see that it was feeding. 

The field was flooded with moonlight. On all sides resounded the ominoushum of beetles' wings. Nature had summoned her burying squad. They hadtheir work cut out, and blundered down from every quarter. For death hadbeen very busy, and it was not the death that needs seeking out. About thecentre of the field the ground was stained with smears of half-driedblood. So the beetles came in their thousands, and before morning broketheir task was done. 

But the harvest mouse did not wait till the morning. The fragments of hisnest were empty, and he dared not look to see what the rat was eating. 

He reached the sheaf-pile only just in time, for the brown owl was stillabroad, quartering the field with deadly certainty of purpose. As he creptbeneath it, he heard the brown rat scream. 

His was the last sheaf to be piled, it was also the last sheaf to belifted. It travelled to the stack on the summit of the last load, and, bya happy chance, formed one of the outside layer. By scratching and gnawingcontinuously for an hour, he worked his way to the butt of it, paused fora moment on the precipitous steep, and then scrambled lightly down toearth. A perpendicular descent was nothing to him. 

The foundations of the stack were already tenanted. Some of the inmateshad been, like himself, conveyed in sheaves, but more had rushed forshelter across the bared expanse, which, on all previous nights, had beena cornfield. There were mice of all kinds, there were half a dozen rats. Before a week had passed, like had joined like. The rats were undisputedmasters of the basement; midway lived the common, vulgar mice; and, highest of all, as befitted them, for they only could thread theinterstices of the upper sheaves, and they only had prehensile tails, the harvest mice. 

THE TRIVIAL FORTUNES OF MOLGE

It was a bubble that launched him into a practical existence. They wererising by hundreds from the ooze that cloaked the bottom of the ditch. Thesunshine called them up and scattered them into nothingness as theyappeared. It was merely by chance that one, in its upward rush, hit hisenvelope of starwort; it was merely by chance that the envelope needed nogreater stimulus to burst asunder. 

Yet he was arranged to take advantage of the smallest jar. Like any othernewt, he had started life as a small white rounded egg; for ten days hehad remained, to all outward appearance, the same; cunningly enfolded, neatly glued down, but still an egg. Then the temperature rose, and hechanged from sphere to cylinder, from cylinder to clumsy crescent, fromcrescent to watchspring. The core of the watchspring was his head, theextremity his tail, and, when the bubble touched him, he flicked out likethe works of a Waterbury. His first colour sensation was the green ofthick glass. As he sank, it grew dimmer and dirtier and browner, andpresently, as he reached the ooze, it was blotted out. 

[Illustration: IT WAS MERELY BY CHANCE THAT ONE HIT HIS ENVELOPE OFSTARWORT. ]

[Illustration: HE WAS STRAIGHT BUT UNLOVELY. ]

[Illustration: IT WAS ONLY THE COPPER GLEAM OF HIS EYE THAT SAVED HIM FROMINSIGNIFICANCE. ]

He was straight, but unlovely--nothing but two black lines and three dots, cased in a filament of jelly. The lines were destined for his backbone andstomach; the dots for his eyes and mouth. The latter was ready forimmediate work, given only the impulse. As he sank slowly, head downwards, the impulse was supplied. Out from his neck there floated two sprays ofgossamer network, of such delicate texture, such dainty tracery, thatnothing but the gentle laving of water could have unravelled them andleft them whole. Through them the water flowed, and with it came the dimconsciousness of individual life, the dim instinct of self-preservation. As he touched the bottom, the middle dot resolved itself into a sucker. 

Fortunately his tastes were vegetarian and indiscriminate. For three dayshe contentedly sucked in his slush surroundings, and, in that time, thetwo outer dots bedecked themselves with rings of burnished copper. Hecould breathe, he could eat, he could see. 

On the fourth day he could move. The black lines had also played theirpart. Both had intensified, but not equally. The uppermost had outstrippedits fellow. For half its length it now ran alone, tapering to its end andcarrying with it a ribbon envelope, transparent and invisible as glass. 

Its use he learnt by grim experience. When first he moved it, it drove himheadlong into inky darkness. His gills crumpled in the rough embrace ofthe mud, and his eyes and sucker were choked with slime. It was only adesperate, convulsive, aimless wriggle that freed him. The next time hecleared his immediate surroundings, and shot a full six inches upwards, only to sink slowly to the ooze again, motionless, and exhausted. He haddescribed an elegant parabola. 

Day by day his excursions grew longer and higher. Nor were they withoutadventure. Sometimes he would be caught in the wake of a stickleback, andwould reach the bottom spinning, or on his back. He was lucky to reach itat all. Sometimes a sunbeam's dazzling radiance would check him inmid-career, and his callow eyes would take an hour to recover. It was amonth before his eyelids developed. Sometimes he would collide with othersof his own kind, equally unskilled in steering, and sometimes a vaguequiver in the water caused him instinctively to mimic death, and thusavoid death in reality. 

In a week's time he had grown out of all knowledge. To be accurate, he haddoubled in size. But, even then, it was only the copper gleam of his eyesthat saved him from utter insignificance. The remainder of him, for themost part of jelly transparency, was invisible against his sombresurroundings. His sucker had taken the semblance of a mouth, his gillswere longer and more feathery, the curves of his tail were more shapely, but still he was, as yet, the merest apology for a tadpole, and so heremained until his limbs grew. They came in front at first--froggy's comebehind, he wants them to swim with--the most curious spindle-shanks ofarms that can be imagined, with elbows always flexed, and fingers alwaysstretched apart. In due course his legs followed, of like purpose andabsurdity. For swimming he only used his tail, but for balancing andsteering, his feet and hands. Would he rise to the surface, he must flickhis tail, and turn his toes and fingers upwards. Would he seek the bottom, he must depress them. Would he lie motionless, suspended in mid-water, hemust point them straight outwards from his sides. 

[Illustration: HIS SUCKER HAD TAKEN THE SEMBLANCE OF A MOUTH. ]

[Illustration: HIS GILLS WERE LONGER AND MORE FEATHERY. ]

It was the charm of a free-swimming existence that divorced him from avegetarian diet. To be continually sucking in plant sludge was a lowgrubby business at the best. Besides, he was now furnished with arespectable pair of jaws, not to mention the rudiments of teeth. Daphnewas his first victim. Daphne sounds somehow floral, but this Daphne wasequipped with one eye and several pairs of legs, and practised abruptjumpy flights through the water. In short, she was a branchiopod, tobe vulgarly precise, a water-flea. The succulence of Daphne led toexperiments on Cyclops--Cyclops is her first cousin--and the taste, once acquired, never left him. 

It was in the pursuit of this latter that he lost a leg, and thus realizedthat the problems of existence before him were twofold: he must not onlyeat, he must avoid being eaten. It was probably a stickleback that tookhis leg. A more powerful enemy would have taken the whole of him. Sointent was he on his quarry that he scarcely realized the severance untilhe found himself swimming in an aimless lopsided circle. Then he soughtthe friendly shelter of the weeds, and sat still to ruminate. The leg wasundoubtedly gone--his right hind leg--it was nipped off close to his body. He felt no pain, but, the moment he left his support, he realized that hewas at a great disadvantage. The more studied his efforts to progressstraight, the more certainly abnormal was his course. In letting himselfsink slowly to the bottom he showed prudence. It was only at the bottomthat he was likely to escape notice. 

He stayed there for a succession of days, getting hungrier and hungrier, for it was only the smallest fry that came within his reach. It was luckyfor him that his gills lasted out. It was a full month before a new legcommenced to fill the vacancy, and, by that time, they had shrunk fromfeathery exuberance to two ugly stunted tufts. It was the most painfulperiod in his whole career. Every day his breathing grew more laboured. Instinct told him to seek the surface, but, each time he made the effort, he capsized before half the distance was accomplished. In six weeks' timecame relief. He had not yet secured a new leg, but the growing stumpfulfilled its purpose. He reached, by strenuous efforts, the surface ofthe water, opened his mouth and _breathed the air_. 

[Illustration: HE STAYED THERE FOR A SUCCESSION OF DAYS. ]

But for his unfortunate accident, it is probable that the transformationfrom a water-breathing to an air-breathing animal would have accomplisheditself imperceptibly. It is likely indeed, that, for a short period, whilehis gills were decrepit, and his lungs infantile, he might have breathedair and water alternately and at will. Now, however, his gills were, forall practical purposes, useless; his lungs, ready but unpractised. Thenecessity of air-breathing was forced on him at a moment's notice. 

Small wonder that he commenced by overdoing matters. To begin with hedistended himself so that he could not sink at all. Then he sank withfar too small a reserve, and struggled to the surface spluttering andhalf-drowned. It was only after much tribulation that he adjusted mattersto a nicety, diving with just sufficient air-supply to last his purpose, and emerging at the proper moment. A silver bubble, the waste product ofhis life, marked his downgoings and uprisings. 

What made him quit the water altogether? For days he had lainhalf-submerged on a mass of starwort, his limbs idly anchored off hisbody, his quaint, puckered face and goggle eyes fixed immovably oninfinity. He was, to all appearance, carved in stone when the impulse tookhim; and then--it was as if the swimming instinct had left him--hecommenced to _crawl_ across the natural bridge of pond-weed to the bank. Nor can I tell you where he went. Sometimes you may meet his kind in dark, damp corners, wedged between stones, or in the crannies of fallen treetrunks. Sometimes it is the gardener that brings word of him. "A' dug thespade a fut deep and turned he up, the poisonous effet, a' soon stamped onhe!" Sometimes it is the housemaid. "Please m'm there's lizards in thecellar, I dursn't go near. " Sometimes a halfpenny head-line. "Can Life beIndefinitely Prolonged? Startling Discovery in a Lump of Coal. " But, wherever he may have got to, I can assure you of this, that for threewhole years he stayed there and never willingly saw the light of day. Nature looked after him in his seclusion, Nature brought him such food ashe required, and Nature never forgot him, but guided him back in duecourse to the brook in which he first saw light. 

 * * * * *

He was a dingy object from above. His eyes, it is true, had kept theirtadpole lustre, but his coat had darkened to a dusky olive, and the onlyvivid colour about him, his orange waistcoat, was invisible as he crawled. 

Even if it had been visible it would not have been to his disadvantage. Ofall the colours in Nature there are none more warning than contrastedblack and orange. Show me a creature of this colour combination, and youwill show me something that is dangerous or nauseous or poisonous. It wasthis, perhaps, that was his salvation as he crawled from his land retreatback to the water he had left three years before. Perhaps it was simplyhis insignificance, for the journey was made by night, and he was crawlingin and out of thickly twisted grass stems. Perhaps, though, it was hisappearance, which, I will freely admit, was at this time, repulsive. A lowset ridge along the centre of his back, and a faint violet tinge upon hissides were all that told of the glory that was to be. 

[Illustration: HE GLIDED INTO THE WATER SLOWLY. ]

He glided into the water slowly, and, as it were, ashamed. But heneed not have been. In three years' seclusion he had swelled to fairproportions. He was no longer of necessity the hunted, in most casesnow he was to be the hunter. As his head parted the surface, myriads offrightened atoms fled panic-stricken before him. Each lash of his tailscattered a microscopic community, and, as he progressed, the sense ofmastery grew upon him. Food was here, and in plenty. He had only to openhis mouth and take his fill. Yet he had no appetite. For the first fewdays of his water existence he sat amid the weed, rising only at rareintervals to the surface for air, and eating nothing. He was feeling thesudden change. His skin was tense and drawn all over, so tense, indeed, that each time he opened his mouth he felt the strain of it. Nor was thediscomfort in his mouth alone. His coat was stretched to bursting-pointalong his back; his limbs seemed cased in gloves a size too small. A crawlashore brought no immediate relief, but helped him indirectly. As hebrushed between two grass stems, the skin of his lips split asunder, and, when he entered the water again, that friendly element gently forced itsway into the gap. Every forward movement that he made now eased his oldworn skin a little backwards. 

[Illustration: HIS OLD SKIN HUNG BEFORE HIM. ]

First his head came free, and its old covering lay in tattered rags uponhis neck. He pulled his hands out next, leaving their casing as thefingers of a turned glove. Next came his body's turn, for this he had tosqueeze himself between the weed-stalks. Lastly, he cleared his legs andtail. 

His old skin hung before him on the starwort, white-gleaming andtransparent, a perfect, neatly folded model of himself. Of himself, did Isay? It scarcely did his present splendour justice. Along his back nowrose the budding undulations of a crest. His flanks had lost their sombreolive shade, and were suffused with mottlings of velvet black, mottlingsthat turned to purple as they crept across his orange front. 

[Illustration: THE TADPOLES WERE LAZILY BROWSING ON THE STARWORT. ]

Even these beauties paled before his tail--a ribbon whose jet black centreshaded into violet, and whose edges were flushed with crimson. 

[Illustration: THE VERY STICKLEBACKS FOUGHT SHY OF HIM. ]

Had he not been consumed with hunger, he might well have lingered incomplacent admiration of himself. But hunger such as he had never feltbefore rose superior to his ęsthetic sense, and he left his weed-shelterin ravenous haste. 

He had not far to go--a swim of ten yards, and he was among the tadpoles. 

They were in a patch of sunlight, lazily browsing on the starwort, mildas any sheep, with foolish, staring eyes, gaping suckers, and bodies thatgleamed as if sprinkled with gold dust. For three days he settled in theirneighbourhood, growing each day sleeker and more gorgeous. His orangewaistcoat took a warmer hue, the crimson deepened on his tail and tippedthe summits of his festooned crest. In six days' time he was a veryperfect newt, decked and caparisoned for love or war. The verysticklebacks fought shy of him. One, it is true, charged him with spineserect--he had a nest to guard and would have charged a pike--but even he, for all his burnished panoply of emerald and vermilion, shrank back andbristled defiance from a safe distance. As for the shoal, they scatteredin flashing rainbow-tinted disarray at his approach. 

He was master of his surroundings, but there came a time when tadpolespalled upon him. For one thing, they were becoming daily more bony. Thosewith hind legs developed were difficult to swallow; those with front legsalso were hopeless. A change of diet was imperative, and, in seeking forthis, he came into collision with the water-spider. 

[Illustration: HE BRISTLED DEFIANCE FROM A SAFE DISTANCE. ]

Now, the water-spider lived by himself in a bubble of his own making. Hislegs were stout and long and hairy, his countenance was horrible, and hisbite a thing to be avoided. When the newt first saw him he was devouring acaddis-worm. Vanity had been the worm's undoing. Instead of casing itselfwith tiny sticks and pebbles and sojourning at the bottom, as Natureordained, it had put on a gaudy livery of starwort leaves. Trustingto this elegant protective mimicry, it boldly sought the surface. Thedisguise availed it nothing. The spider drove its fangs through the flimsycovering that but half concealed its head. The newt had seen it all. Thebunch of animated foliage carelessly advancing, the spider's leap from itsbubble, the glint of its shears as they met in the wretched creature'sneck, the ghastly quivering tremor of the case. Then the fierceeight-legged efforts to extract the victim, and finally the awful cunningthat seemed intelligent of Nature's devices, and pulled it out, as anyangler would, tail foremost. 

[Illustration: SCATTERED IN FLASHING, RAINBOW-TINTED DISARRAY. ]

[Illustration: THE WATER-SPIDER LIVED BY HIMSELF IN A BUBBLE OF HIS OWNMAKING. ]

[Illustration: WHEN THE NEWT FIRST SAW HIM HE WAS DEVOURING ACADDIS-WORM. ]

It was not so much animus against the spider as a longing for the wormthat brought about the conflict. For the newt to snap at it was certainlyunpardonable. Had he anticipated the resultant display of force, he wouldhave hesitated. He had judged the spider solely by his size. When he feltsix legs firmly fixed about his face, when he felt the cunning leverage oftwo more added to the pull, and a hideous pair of jaws drawing closer andcloser, he dropped the worm, a useless martyr in Nature's scheme, and bitfor freedom. The spider lost a foot, but left its mark, and the spider'shairy foot was not worth eating. 

[Illustration: SNATCHED AN INFANT DRAGON-FLY FROM THE JAWS OF THEWATER-SCORPION. ]

In his next robbery he was more judicious. He snatched an infantdragon-fly from the jaws of the water-scorpion, devoured it with pleasure, and then turned his attention to the water-scorpion himself. He found himflat and tasteless. The water-boatman was more succulent, but, with onlyone soft spot, difficult to do justice to. It was the same with all thelarger creatures. He was reduced to stickleback fry, small larvae, andeven juveniles of his own race. But nothing touched the tadpole, whoseunkind destiny it is to furnish half the water-world with food. Had itnot been for a diversion, he would have left the water in disgust. 

[Illustration: THE WATER-BOATMAN WAS DIFFICULT TO DO JUSTICE TO. ]

[Illustration: IT WAS A CASE OF MUTUAL ATTRACTION. ]

 * * * * *

Probably it was a case of mutual attraction. He swung his tail and crestbefore her, comeliest and most debonair of all her suitors; and she, withan engaging smile, swung a responsive tail at him. Crest she had none, and, of course, her tail could not compare with his in beauty. The higherwe get in the natural orders, the more distinctly does decoration becomea feminine necessity. Her coat was a pale olive green; her front lightorange. Her charm was in herself. 

[Illustration: THE GIDDY VORTEX OF NEWT SOCIETY. ]

[Illustration: SOMETIMES THEY TRAVERSED THE MIDDLE DEEPS. ]

For newts they made an excellent and well-matched pair. Of course they hadtheir disagreements. Newts are by nature fickle and inconstant. 

When she was occupied with the cares of a family, and spent her daysand nights in deftly fashioning starwort cradles for her eggs, itwas irritating that he, whose duty it was to frighten the maraudingsticklebacks, should have preferred to rush away into the giddy vortex ofnewt society. It was more than irritating when, by way of showing that hercradles were insecure, he opened six and devoured the contents himself. 

She profited by the experience, however, and the next series wereexquisitely finished. The egg was placed in the exact centre of the leaf, the leaf was folded over, and sealed, tip to base, with all the strengthof her hind feet. Her mouth put the finishing touch. 

When she had visited some half-dozen stalks, and left each adornedthroughout its length with a neat series of symmetrical bows, she feltthat her task was done and that she was at liberty to accompany him. Together they learnt the brook from end to end. Sometimes they walkedalong the bottom, stirring to right and left of them a host of low-classlife, slimy leeches, dingy crustaceans of every imaginable kind. Sometimesthey traversed the middle deeps, brushing against the beetles and theboatmen and the water-snails. Sometimes they sunned themselves on thesurface, snapping idly at the measurers and whirligigs. 

It was the flood that parted them. For three days it had rainedunceasingly on the surface of the brook. As they rose to breathe, theirnoses were lashed by pigmy waves. Each raindrop made its own wideningeddy, its own pattering sound. Rain on the roof is noisy enough to thosebeneath, but rain on the water is deafening. 

[Illustration: SOMETIMES THEY SUNNED THEMSELVES ON THE SURFACE. ]

In the brook, as I have said, it rained for three days. In one part oranother of the valley it rained for a week. The meadow-land gave itssurplus to the brook, and the brook sought the river for relief. But theriver was already filled to overflowing, so that brook and river met eachother halfway, and the life in each was intermingled. 

[Illustration: A ROACH SNAPPED IDLY AT HIM. ]

[Illustration: EACH LAMPERN WAS ANCHORED BY ITS SUCKER TO A ROUNDEDPEBBLE. ]

Now, between brook-life and river-life there is a great gulf fixed. Thereis no sideways in the river. All things that would stay at rest obey thecurrent. The fishes point their noses against it; the plants lie as itguides them. Up or down is the law of quiet existence. The newt knewnothing of this, and, when a rush of waters swept him into the river-bedhis natural instinct was to seek the bank. This laid him broadside andhelpless. A roach snapped idly at him as he floundered past the shoal. Thesnap cost him his tail, and was probably his salvation. Without a tailhis biteable area was halved. A young trout missed him, and he pulled upamid the lamperns in the shallows. The lamperns were too busily engrossedto notice him. Each was fast anchored by its sucker to a rounded pebble. Across their slender undulating bodies he struggled to the shore, battered, bruised, and tailless, but alive. He entered the first brook hecame to, and there he remained a month in gloomy solitude, for he feltthat his chief glory had been taken from him. In a month's time his tailhad partially repaired itself. The new portion was stubby and colourless. In another fortnight his crest had shrunk to half its former size. Thisblow decided him. He left the water definitely. Where he went I cannottell you, nor do I know what happened to her, but I think they will meetnext year, and by that time his tail will be as beautiful as ever. 

[Illustration: THE NEW PORTION WAS STUBBY AND COLOURLESS. ]

THE PASSING OF THE BLACK RAT

 (NOTE. --The old English black rat, for some three hundred years predominant in this country, is now well-nigh extinct. He has been superseded, some think exterminated, by the brown Hanoverian rat, a more powerful and disreputable species, which made its appearance in the course of the eighteenth century. )

The black rat sat back on his haunches, pricked up his ears, and listened. It was something different to the faint lapping wash of the sewer;different to the dull hum of the traffic. It was an uncanny, unfamiliarscratching. 

Every rat knows the scratching of his relations; but the black rat had norelations. 

Six weeks ago there had been at least two others of his kind inexistence--the one he had fought with, and the one he had mostunsuccessfully fought for. As a matter of fact, he had crawled away fromthat encounter to die. Instead of dying, he had recovered. That his rivalwas in reality the better rat he could not allow. Position is everythingin the rat _duello_, and position had not favoured him. 

After a series of disastrous frontal attacks, he had limped behind theold corn-bin, with half his mouth torn away, and his front paws mangledand useless. He had bowed his head and waited sullenly for the _coup degrace_. But the _coup de grace_ never came. There had been a diversion inthe rear, and into the cause of that diversion he had not troubled toinquire. 

He had seen neither him nor her since, and, until he had recovered fromhis wounds, had hardly felt his loneliness. For a wounded rat, lonelinessis normal and necessary. Of late, as he sniffed dubiously round the oldfamiliar corners, the sense of desolation had forced itself upon him. 

He recalled, dimly, the few weeks before his misfortune. Every day thenumber of the tribe had lessened. First went the patriarch, white aboutthe muzzle, grizzled all over, tottering and feeble, but still of eminentdistinction--the black rat does not coarsen with age--then, one by one, with fearless inconsequence, the younger ones; lastly, save two, his owncontemporaries. 

 * * * * *

The scratching seemed to get louder. The black rat glided, like a shadow, towards it. It sounded from the bottom of the door. 

[Illustration: FIRST THE PATRIARCH, WHITE ABOUT THE MUZZLE, GRIZZLED ALLOVER, BUT STILL OF EMINENT DISTINCTION. ]

Three sides of the cellar--for a hundred years the cellar had been therats' stronghold--were solid masonry. The fourth side was a woodenpartition. At one corner of this stood the door, close-fitted to itssill and frame, and shrouded in cobwebs, which, in rats' memory, hadnever parted. Along the wall opposite ran a six-inch shelf, and, at theextremity of this shelf, where the fittings entered the brickwork, wasthe entrance of the run. 

Generations of rats had used that run. Its sides were smooth and polishedas a metal tube. Here it was narrower, there wider, but throughout itslength it was free and unimpeded. 

For the most part it lay between wall and wainscot. At times it seemedto pierce the masonry itself. Midway in the ascent the path of leastresistance had been towards the outer wall. Two round holes pierced itssurface--a brick's length dividing them. One can understand the making ofthe first hole, but the making of the second? Fifteen feet below resoundedthe busy traffic of the city. Did two tunnels converge by chance? did theyconverge by design? or was the second made by some colossal rat, stretchedat full length, and trusting his life to his superhuman hearing? I canonly state the facts. I do not pretend to explain them. 

From the second hole the run passed into the masonry once more, zigzaggedupwards into the storeroom, and ended. 

From the storeroom there were countless exists--down the gutter intothe courtyard (a short cut to the shambles), beneath the flooring to thescullery, and thence along the drain-pipe to the great sewer, through theventilator on to the roof--anywhere, everywhere. 

 * * * * *

The scratching was certainly louder. The black rat was stepping verydelicately, but a slippery corn-husk shot from underneath his foot, andwith the rustle of the corn-husk the scratching ceased. 

Nothing but a rat could have heard that; it was certainly a rat, but who?

For ten minutes he waited, listening. Then he stole forward, until thepoints of his whiskers brushed lightly against the door. Instantly therewas a movement on the far side--a four-footed movement. Caution againstsuch cunning seemed superfluous. He boldly forced his nose between doorand flooring and sniffed; but only for a second, for his nose had gonefarther than he meant; the bottom of the woodwork had been gnawed throughuntil it was a bare half-inch thick all along its length. He drew backwith a jerk, and waited another ten minutes, staring at the door andthinking. 

The silence on the far side grew unendurable. The black rat whisked round, and rushed madly for the run. He gained the shelf by a beautiful swingingleap, easy and silent as a cat's. 

[Illustration: HE STOLE FORWARD UNTIL THE POINTS OF HIS WHISKERS BRUSHEDLIGHTLY AGAINST THE DOOR. ]

For the first few yards, between brickwork and wainscot, the run wasclear enough; but, as it turned upwards to the floor above, somethingseemed unfamiliar. 

The light, which had always faintly shimmered from the hole in the outerwall, was gone. As he drove forward headlong, he bruised his nose againstthe cause of its disappearance. The wall had been repaired with concrete. It was utterly ungnawable, and he slowly retraced his steps to the cellar. He was just in time to hear the scratching recommence. 

[Illustration: HE TRIED TO STEADY HIMSELF BY NIBBLING AT A STRAYCORN-EAR. ]

It drew closer and closer. It got upon his nerves. He tried to steadyhimself by nibbling at a stray corn-ear. He dropped it before he hadfairly tasted it, and crept forward to the door once more. There was morethan one unknown at work. At times a light quiver ran the whole length ofthe bottom ledge. 

From a rat standpoint, it was the worst position conceivable. Thatattack was impending was certain; it was equally certain that retreat wasimpossible. Desperation, rather than bravado, determined him to reversethe positions. In one spot the wood had been fined to a quarter of aninch. Light filtered through, and cast a dull red shadow on the floor. Itwas at that spot that he flung himself. As he touched it, every othersound ceased. He had the field to himself, and he worked it to the best ofhis ability. The splinters flew before his chisel teeth; he wrenched, andscratched, and tore. Before five minutes were gone, the flimsy woodenscreen had been transformed into a neat three-cornered hole. 

He thrust his head forward, and stared with all his eyes. At firsthe could distinguish nothing. The far side of the partition was, incomparison with his recent surroundings, brilliantly lighted. Graduallythe form of the enemy shaped itself before him. It was certainly a rat, but what a rat! Until his muzzle had shot through the opening, it had beenfacing him, waiting and watching. Now it had leapt backwards, andpresented a three-quarter rear view. 

[Illustration: IT WAS THE MOST VULGAR, ILL-CONDITIONED BEAST HE HAD EVERSET EYES ON. ]

It was the most vulgar, ill-conditioned beast he had ever set eyes on. Its muzzle was coarse and blunted; its ears were half concealed incoarse-grained, unkempt hair; its tail, instead of tapering, like his own, to an elegant infinity, was short and stumpy; its eyes were, to say theleast of it, insignificant. But its colour! a dirty, nondescript, khakibrown!

The sight of it was enough, and he drove at it full tilt. 

Appearances were undoubtedly against the brown rat, but it knew somethingof tactics. With a lightness, such as one could hardly have expected, itswung to one side, and, before his brilliant charge could take effect, hadgot its back to the wall. He had made the same mistake again--the mistakeof brainless breeding all the world over. It mattered not whether heapproached from front, or right, or left, the same whirling flail offore-paws was ready for him. He leapt clean over its head, and was flungback--by the brickwork. Whichever way he tried he had only half a foe toaim at. Still he never flinched, happy in the conviction that blood musttell. 

Blood might have told against a single enemy. Against a score it availedlittle. And a full score were advancing. The ungainly, stubby forms seemedto rise from every crevice in the floor. 

They came very slowly at first--a dirty cohort of khaki Hanoverians;their muzzles uplifted and quivering at the scent of blood, their beadyeyes fixed seemingly on vacancy, but really on himself. He felt themcoming, and, for a moment, paused in his attack. The whole group might, save for the restless nostrils, have been carved in stone; the duellistseyeing each other warily, the scavenger ring waiting on events; but thewhiskers of each one trembled, and gave the whole group life. 

It was the watchman's tread that broke the spell. The black rat knewthat tread well enough. He knew every tread in the warehouse; but to theinvaders it was unfamiliar. Before the footsteps had resounded twice, hewas left alone; the host had vanished as quickly as it came. 

The black rat retreated in good order, and established himself once morein a corner of the cellar. It was a mistake, but he wanted time to recoverhimself, and time to think. 

Of the world on the far side of the partition he knew nothing, but herealized that there was a world. Should he make a rush for it before theenemy had regained courage? Even so, where should he rush to? Was helikely to find an exit amid altogether strange surroundings? Could heblock the hole? Rats had done such things before now, but it was onlydeferring the evil hour, and what time would he have to do it in? Thequestion was answered for him. The echo of the watchman's step had barelyceased, before the hole at the base of the door was, for a moment, obscured. 

They came in jerky disorder. First a young, loose-limbed stripling. Hewas barely out before he was back again, throwing up the pink soles ofhis hind feet, and flicking the woodwork with his belated tail. Then akaleidoscopic succession of suspicious faces. The light danced on thefloor as each thrust his neighbour aside, thrust his head like lightningthrough the opening, and as quickly withdrew it. They were masters ofscouting, these brown barbarians. Sometimes one, bolder or younger thanthe rest, would steal a foot within the cellar. Sometimes, for minutestogether, all would be quiet, the light patch on the floor the only thingamiss. The black rat never moved his eyes from that light. 

It was an hour before the chieftain himself appeared. He squeezed throughthe opening, but, for all his bulk, came quickly. Once clear, he droppedupon his haunches, and knit his fists before him. The position showed himat his best. Crouched or in motion, the clumsy angles of his body wereforced into relief. As he sat back, the curves softened, and, as far asbrown rat could be, he was imposing. For some moments he sat immovable, facing the darkness, then he turned, and, with one eye always fixed behindhim, passed slowly out of sight. 

There was a long silence after this. The light patch on the floor seemedto grow in intensity. By its dull reflection, the black rat could justdistinguish his own whiskers. It fascinated him. He stole halfway acrossthe floor towards it, and paused. As he paused, it was blotted out oncemore. 

[Illustration: THE POSITION SHOWED HIM AT HIS BEST. ]

He was being watched. Before he was back in his corner, three of the enemywere through the breach. Five more followed. Then in quick confusion adozen. Then a dozen more. The Hanoverian army was spreading its wings. 

Their actual number he never knew. Perhaps, for the credit of his family, it was as well. Reflection would assuredly have put resistance, and evenhope, out of the question. As it was, he came forward with absoluteindifference. His breeding again stood him in good stead. Of all the hosthe was the least uneasy. In the middle of the floor he stopped abruptly, confronting the situation. Fifty rats were in the cellar now, and therewas not a rustle among them. 

He had calculated exactly where to stop. It was a foot beyond the normaltake-off of the grown rat. He flung his head round, put all the force hepossessed into his hind legs, and leapt, upwards and backwards, towardsthe shelf. He caught it with his fore-paws, scrambled on to it, and, forthe moment, was safe. He was only just quick enough. As his eyes turned, the brown rats had rushed forward, and, even as he clutched the ledge, heheard them pattering against the wall. 

The floor below was a raging sea of rats; rats leaping over one another, jostling, biting, tearing. To the silence of a moment before had succeededa babel of shrieks and hisses. But there were no jumpers among them likehimself. He passed quietly along the ledge above them, through theentrance of the run, and up to its blocked extremity. There he braced hisback against the concrete and waited. 

 * * * * *

He waited for three days, his muzzle grounded, his eyes peering into thedarkness, his every sense alert. He ate nothing, he drank nothing--to allappearance he never slept. 

On the fourth day, he crept feebly halfway towards the cellar. Privationwas beginning to tell on him. His only hope was that the invaders mighthave retired. 

For the first few yards it almost seemed as if it was so. Neither in theair nor on the ground could he detect the slightest vibration; but, as heturned a sharp corner, the hope was dispelled. The whole run quivered withthe stealthy whisper of rats' footsteps. Faint squeaks and whimperingsechoed along it. The cellar was evidently still occupied in force; he wascornered between starvation and insuperable odds. Yet there might be ascrap of food this side of the cellar. He stole forward until another turnrevealed the ledge. In the centre of the ledge were three brown rats. Thefarther one was cleaning itself, but the other two were feeding, and, atthe sight of the food, he lost all prudence. He was upon them before hewas perceived. The two dropped their provender, leapt blindly forward, andfell clumsily to the floor below, but the third slid down the junction ofthe walls. 

The black rat realized what that meant. As he turned his head, he saw hisretreat cut off. Two more had scaled the corner behind him. He swung aboutto face them, girded himself to charge, and, instead of charging, stoppeddead. 

[Illustration: THE FARTHER ONE WAS CLEANING ITSELF. ]

For the first time in his life he knew what fear was. Before him were hisimmediate adversaries; his quick ears caught the crumbling of plasterbehind him. Rats were mounting that corner also. 

Five feet below lay the floor. Its surface glistened with shifting beadsof light--light from rats' eyes. 

He was between the devil and the deep sea--the floor was the sea, and thedevil was assuredly advancing towards him. Never before had he set eyes onsuch a beast--ten inches from head to tail, brawny, misshapen, mangy, averitable Caliban of rats. 

[Illustration: A VERITABLE CALIBAN OF RATS. ]

The position was hopeless. All he could do was to die game. Caliban hadcrept within a foot of him, and was pulling himself into position. But hewas too slow. Before he had raised his clumsy fore-paws from the ground, the black rat's teeth had met in his throat. His huge frame quivered fora moment, staggered, and lurched heavily off the shelf. He carried hiscomrade with him. 

First blood! what matter whose? Caliban lay where he fell, his eyes slowlyglazing. The eyes round him caught the reflection from his throat. He wasthe hero of a hundred fights, and the puniest ratling had its share. Thefloor was for the moment the centre of attraction. 

Had it not been for the chieftain, the black rat might have regained therun. But the chieftain had foreseen events. As Caliban fell he hadclambered up, and was now blocking the entrance. 

He was grounded on his haunches, with uplifted paws, ready for anything. The black rat drove at him, and was hurled backwards. Among rats thechieftain is, of necessity, pluperfect master of defence. Again and againhe parried the attack, until Caliban was disposed of. 

Then, in the middle of his rush, the black rat heard once more thestealthy footstep in his rear, paused, half turned, missed his footing, and fell. 

Yet he accounted for four of those below, which made five altogether. 

"THE FOX'S TRICKS ARE MANY; ONE IS ENOUGH FOR THE URCHIN"(_Old Greek Proverb_). 

Rain, and rain, and rain. For three days in succession the sun haddefaulted. Yet he had been doing his best behind the storm-clouds. Thatvery morning he had forced one straggling beam well through. It had beencompletely thrown away, for every living thing was snugly tucked up undercover. Now, as his time was getting short, he made one last despairingeffort. 

Westward, the sky was banked with purple nimbus, towering in gloomymagnificence aloft, but fined to nothingness on the horizon. The sun sawhis chance, and took it. As the storm-cloud was borne a trifle upwards, heflashed his dying radiance beneath it. 

At first the brightness was intolerable. The rain-drenched leaves werebathed in liquid fire; the river surface gleamed like molten metal; theundergrowth that fringed the bank became a tangled web of dazzlinglight-points. 

The effort was of short duration, yet, before the sun had sunk, thethings that loved the river had caught his message. 

[Illustration: THE WATER-RAT CAME FROM A HOLE FIVE FEET ABOVE THERIVER-LEVEL. ]

The cloud-bank lifted sullenly, and dispersed. Out of the east came a softsummer breeze, stealing silently across the valley, and tilting thebalance of each dripping leaf. So the great drops of moisture slipped offthem to swell the river, and the drying of the earth commenced. 

That is what brought them all out together. 

The water-rat came from a hole five feet above the river-level. Anoverhanging grass-tuft masked her exit. As a rule, she used the backway--a gently sloping tunnel which led from nest to stream. But to-nightit was very still. She padded quietly to the water's edge, slid throughthe reeds that bordered it, and sat upon a silted crescent of mud that layon their far side. She always sat there to commence with. From the bankshe was invisible; up stream and down she could see for fifty yards, andthe pith of the reed-stem, of all things in her menu most charming, layready to her orange-tinted teeth. 

The noctules came from the hollow in the old chestnut. Twenty of themlived there together, because it was a convenient, roomy hollow. No oneknows how it started--perhaps the wood-peckers could tell you--but rainhad certainly finished its excavation. The entrance was some thirty feetabove the ground--dank, noisome, and forbidding; the end was near theroots. 

Of course the old chestnut was dying; but that did not concern thenoctules. Each evening they crawled up to prove the weather; each evening, of late, they had shambled back again into the gloomy depths, cannoningawkwardly against each other, snarling and grumbling. The temper of batsis uncertain, and hunger does not improve it. 

But to-night it was better. One by one the ghoulish muzzles emerged, peered into the darkness, and were satisfied; then the clumsy, ill-balanced bodies, entangled in loose-folded leathern cerements--thenoctule's wing-spread measures a full foot; lastly, the webbed curvingtriangle of feet and tail. 

[Illustration: THE NOCTULES CAME FROM THE HOLLOW OF THE OLD CHESTNUT. ]

Each, as it blundered free, clung, for a space, head downwards to thebark, then slacked the grip of its ten toes, unhooked its thumbs, dropped, and flew. Never was flight more graceful, never more perfectlycontrolled. For fear of the swallows, the summer beetles fly by choice attwilight; even then they must needs fly low, for the noctule never misses, and the crunch of his teeth in a beetle's horny back is all he knows ofmusic. 

The stoat came from a tree which was even more decrepit than the chestnut. It had been an elm once. For four centuries it had defied the elements, towering full fifty feet in rugged, imperial grandeur. The elements hadoutstayed it. All that remained was a caverned stump, whose jagged summitpointed, like an accusing finger, to the sky. 

But, from a stoat standpoint, the stump was unsurpassable. There werethree exits from the hollow base. Up the shaft there was yet another. Thick brambles fringed it on every side, and in those brambles were manybirds' nests. The stump was an ideal nursery; as such the stoat hademployed it. He had left to its friendly protection his family of six, with a young rabbit to keep them occupied. He, himself, was now in questof frogs. 

The hedgehog bore on his back clear tokens of his last retreat. A dozenwithered leaves were clinging to his spines. The nearest pile of such layheaped against the hen-house. The hedgehog footed through the knotgrassslowly, grubbing with his snout to right and left of him. Sometimes, whencover failed, he broke into a bow-legged run. 

The squirrel came from high up in the beech tree--the second fork fromthe top. There he had built what he called a nest, but what humans, withgreater nicety of diction, call a drey. Speak not of squirrel's "nest" tosportsmen; to speak of fox's "burrow" were hardly less heinous. The dreywas eminently satisfactory, for, in the summer months, it was completelyhidden. Yet three days inside it had been more than sufficient for thesquirrel. He was cold, hungry, and cramped in every limb. To quicken theblood within him, he flung himself at lightning speed from bough to bough, from tree to tree, up and down the branches, in and out the maze ofdripping foliage, until his every hair was tipped with a raindrop, and hewas almost weary. Then he paused a moment for breath and shook himself, dog-fashion. 

The mole's uneasy, crimson-pointed muzzle came from a hole right on thewater's edge. He was feeling for the water. Last night the swollen riverhad forced its way a yard into his run, and he had blundered headlong intoit. Swimming is easy to the mole, but swimming in an inch-wide tube isrisky. So, to-night, he was cautious. It might have been fine all day, or it might have been wet, for all he knew. 

The grass-snake seemed to come up from the river bottom. His head suddenlyparted the water beneath the old pollard, and he swam slowly across thestream, craning his neck before him. The pollard was inwardly rotten tothe core--a snug retreat for snakes, to which the only entrance was awater-way. 

The dormouse came from halfway up the hazel, and the wood-mouse came fromits roots. They, too, had been three days weather bound; but they were nothungry. Each had its winter store to draw upon. 

The moths and caterpillars and beetles, came from everywhere--crannies inthe brickwork, joints in the palings, crevices in the bark, fromneat-rolled envelope of leaf, from hollowed shelter of reed-stem, frompigmy burrows in the ground. 

 * * * * *

It was the hedgehog who started it. The hedgehog has a keen sense ofhumour, and, for that reason, he loves an argument. 

"I will back my spines, " said he, "against any means of defence in thecountry. " He curled himself into a forbidding spiky ball, and rolledslowly down the bank towards the water. On the very brink he stopped anduncurled himself. "Or any means of offence, " he added. 

This was too much. 

"Spines!" sneered the stoat. "Spines might be some use if you had any pacebehind them. Where would they come in against a hare?"

[Illustration: IT WAS THE HEDGEHOG WHO STARTED IT. ]

"Spines would be awkward in the shallows, " murmured the water-rat, as sheswam quietly over to the far shore, keeping half an eye on the stoat, whowas also something of a swimmer. 

"Spines!" squeaked the noctule from the safe height of a hundred feet. "Why load yourself with spines? Why not fly like me?"

"Spines!" shouted the squirrel. "A pretty mess you'd make of it withspines up here. Do you think every one spends their life grubbing afterground beetles?"

"Spines!" purred the moths. "We gave up spines at quite an early stage. Haven't you finished moulting, hedgehog?"

"Spines!" snapped the trout. "Give me a good set of fins. "

Now this was exactly what the hedgehog had foreseen. As I have saidbefore, he had a keen sense of humour. 

"I am willing to hear you all, " said he. 

So, because of his pleistocene lineage, and because of his popularity (thecomedian is always the more popular candidate), and because he had startedthe discussion, he was voted to the chair. 

[Illustration: THE NOCTULE SPOKE FIRST; HE OPENED HIS MOUTH AS THOUGH HEWOULD EAT THE WORLD. ]

The noctule spoke first. He leant his arm against the roughened bark, hooked his thumb-nail into a crevice, and opened his mouth as though hewould eat the world. He was not beautiful, and his voice was threeoctaves above F in alt. What reached the audience below was somewhat onthese lines--

"I and my kin are the only mammals that fly. Therefore I am superior tothe hedgehog. Flying is the best state of all. Even the humans do theirpoor best to fly. Every part of me is modified for flight. My knees bendthe wrong way so as to better stretch my wing-membranes. My tail serves asa rudder, and in the hollow pouch about it I can trap a beetle, ay, andcarry him where I will. My sense of touch is the most delicate in all theworld. _I_ never dash myself, like blundering bird, against a wire. If youwould know the secret, look at the trembling bristles on my muzzle, lookat the earlets within my ears, look at the sensitive wing-membrane betweenmy fingers. No quiver in the air escapes me. I have the sixth sense of theblind, and yet I see. "

Next spoke the stoat, the swash-buckler. He cleared his throat with ashort, rasping bark, glared round him, and began--

"I am the only flesh-eater among you all, " said he. The hedgehog's smilebroadened, but he said nothing. "Therefore I have bigger game to tacklethan any of you. Therefore I am better armed. Scores of bats I have eatenin my time. I could climb your chestnut if I cared to, noctule, and eatthe colony. I would, if you were not so evil-smelling. " (This from thestoat!) "Scores of water-rats have I eaten, too. Look at my long, lithebody. What burrow is too small for it? Look at my teeth. What rodent has achance against them? I fear nothing, not even man himself. I can swim, Ican run, I can climb, I can hunt by scent, and I am cunning as a fox. From my fur, when I am dead, comes the imperial ermine. Would you pityourself against me, hedgehog?"

[Illustration: NEXT SPOKE THE STOAT, THE SWASH-BUCKLER. ]

"_I_ would, " said the squirrel. Like the bats, he was some way offthe ground; also he had mapped up a clear course of forty yards amongthe tree-tops, so he spoke recklessly. "The stoat is an amateur climber. "("Wait till I get to your nursery!" snarled the stoat. ) "He has no ideaof taking cover. A treed stoat against a human is doomed. Look at hisblack-smudged tail--only a trifle better than a weasel's. It reminds meof my summer moult--but it's worse; and, in the summer, even I must trustmore to my hands and feet. I, the most skilful gymnast in the country, save only the marten, and there are too few of them to count. Give me mywinter parachute, and see me then. Who can thread the woods like me? Fromend to end I fly, skimming the tree-tops and never touching ground. Yet, if the fancy takes me, I can cover land or water faster than any stoat. From _my_ fur, when I am dead, comes the camel-hair brush. "

[Illustration: "_I_ WOULD, " SAID THE SQUIRREL. ]

Next came the dormouse. "Sleep is the best defence of all, " he said. "Sleep and being very small indeed, and never coming out except aftersundown, and having great big eyes, so that you can see things like stoatslong before they see you. Offence I know nothing of, unless it's eatingbeetles. "

After him the wood-mouse. "Give me a good burrow underground, " said he. "Make it among branching roots, with half a dozen entrances and exits, andI defy the weasel, let alone the stoat. But in the winter, when cover isscanty, sleep and a store of nuts is best of all. Beans are no good--theyrot away. Earth-stored nuts, tight packed, are the sweetest things Iknow. "

"What of summer?" said the hedgehog. 

"Weight for weight, " said the mouse, "I can tackle anything that moves. Asfor voles and house-mice, I can fight two at once. When I am giving muchaway, I like my burrow handy. "

[Illustration: TWO FIELDS AWAY YOU CAN SEE MY FORTRESSES. ]

"Who talks of burrows?" said the mole. "Where is there tunnel-builderlike myself? Two fields away you can see my fortresses. You can see themplainly, tunnelled maze and rounded nest and all. Some prying human hasturned his vacant mind to nature-study, and made a clumsy section of apair. Look at each in turn. Mark the one tunnel that leads upward to thenest, mark the two galleries that surround it, mark that they wind in aspiral, and are not joined by shafts at intervals. That would so weakenthe surroundings as to leave the nest an easy prey to scratching weasel. Why is the spiral made? To cheat inquiry; a dozen tunnels join it fromthe run; from it are a dozen exits to the surrounding field. _One tunnelonly leads into the nest. _ Only the moles know that one. Alone I did it, save for my wife, who hindered me. Alone I moved two hundredweight ofearth. Nor do my qualities end here. Were I fifty times as big, I would belord of creation. Where can you find fiercer courage than mine; where, bulk for bulk, more mighty strength? What monster, think you, would anelephant, built for burrowing, be? For my weight, I am the strongest thingthat lives. One creature, and one only, approaches me; that is themole-cricket. Let him speak for himself. "

[Illustration: "WHO TALKS OF BURROWS, " SAID THE MOLE. ]

[Illustration: THE MOLE-CRICKET TURNED UP FROM NOWHERE IN PARTICULAR. ]

The mole-cricket turned up from nowhere in particular, and his voice wasthe tinkling of a silver bell. It would have taken a score of him to makea mole. 

"I am older than the mole, " he said, "yet from him I take my name. Indry ground I make poor progress; where it is muddy and swampy, I can runthrough it, like a fish through water. When the mole came into being, heborrowed the pattern of my fore feet--shovel and pick and spade in one. Like me, he learnt to run backwards or forwards, and that is why his hairhas no set in it. Whichever way he goes, the clinging dust is swept fromoff its surface. He comes from grubby depths as polished as a pin. And sodo I; but from a different cause. I am so highly polished that the dampsoil cannot cleave to me. "

"Burrowing, " said the hedgehog, "is a low form of defence. What says thewater-rat?"

"I burrow, too, " said the water-rat. "If I have time, I burrow in thewater. I part the surface with the tiniest ripple, keeping my fore feetclose packed to my sides, and swim with hind legs only, below the surface, neatly as a natterjack. If I were better treated, I should never burrow inthe banks at all. But I must have somewhere to go to when my breath failsme. I eat the mare's tail and the pith of reed-stems. That does no one anyharm, not even a trout-preserver. But of all good viands, commend me to aparsnip. "

"This is neither defence nor offence, " said the hedgehog. 

"The only offensive thing I have is a pair of incisors, " said thewater-rat. "They are orange-yellow and very strong. As regards defence, Ican do more in the water than most. "

[Illustration: "NOT MORE THAN ME, " THE YOUNG TROUT BROKE IN. ]

"Not more than me, " the young trout broke in. He flung his nose jauntilyagainst the surface, and the surface swung from it in widening eddies, circle after circle. "I can be up to the weir and down again before youare halfway across the stream. When humans build their destroyers, theymodel them on me. I know that, because I have seen their clumsy models, trout-shaped, save the mark!"

"That is enough from any one of your years, " said the hedgehog. "Littleriver-fishes run away from big river-fishes, and big river-fishes run awayfrom bigger river-fishes, and they all run away from the otter. "

The jack that lived in the deep below the pollard grinned, but saidnothing. The jack knew better, but he never _says_ anything. But thegudgeon and the troutling were terrified at the notion of bigger fishes, and made straight for the weeds. 

[Illustration: BUT THE GUDGEON AND TROUTLING MADE STRAIGHT FOR THE WEEDS. ]

"What think the caterpillars?" said the hedgehog. 

The caterpillars were studying moral invisibility in a hundred differentways, for insect life is the most highly specialized of all. It was thelobster-moth-to-be that spoke first. He bent his head backwards until ittouched his tail, folded the knee-joints of his skinny legs, and began--

[Illustration: IT WAS THE LOBSTER-MOTH-TO-BE THAT SPOKE FIRST. ]

"It is all bluff, " said he, "caterpillars are past-masters of bluff. Lookat the hawkmoths, fat, flabby, bloated things, with curly tails. Most ofthem fling their heads back, arch their necks, and play at being snakes. Some grow eyes upon them, not real eyes, but markings which serve as such, enough to scare the average chuckle-headed bird. Sometimes they trust tovein-markings on their bodies, which turn them into casual misshapenleaves. Sometimes they liken themselves to twigs--"

"That is what we do, " cried the loopers. Each branch of the oak had itsloopers, feeding cheerfully, transforming themselves to twigs, andshamming death in quick succession. 

[Illustration: MOST OF THEM FLING THEIR HEADS BACK, ARCH THEIR NECKS, ANDPLAY AT BEING SNAKES. ]

"Sometimes, " continued the lobster-moth-to-be, "they are, like myself, really worth eating. Then, mere vulgar imitation bluff is of little avail. To be a withered leaf is my first line of defence; if the ichneumonbuzzes nearer, I shift my ground and become a spider. I am the onlycaterpillar in the country with spider-legs; when they are stretched totheir full length and quivering, they are worse to look at than the realthing. Should even this fail me, I show the imitation scar on my fourthbody-ring. That usually clinches the matter. The ichneumon fondly imaginesthat I am already occupied. So, if I am lucky, I turn at length to dingypupa, and thus preserve my race. "

[Illustration: NOT REAL EYES BUT MARKINGS WHICH SERVE AS SUCH. ]

[Illustration: EACH BRANCH OF THE OAK HAD ITS LOOPERS. ]

"Will you hear an amphibian?" said the toad. He came from the centre of agrass-tuft, and spoke with solemn deliberation. "Not one of you is morepersecuted than I. From time immemorial I have been the loadstone ofcredulity, and--I am altogether defenceless. I am never worth eating, forthe shock of capture opens every pore on my skin, drenching me with whatthe poets class as venom. So I am usually thrown aside with a broken back. For centuries I was thought to have a jewel in my head. How many of myhapless ancestors were tortured for that jewel! With the toad's death, the jewel was believed to vanish. How many have been 'larned to be a toad'by baffled, disappointed rustics! That is what puts the sad expression inmy eye. How have I survived it all? By dogged perseverance. I lay so manyeggs that one at least _must_ survive. Thus is the balance of the racepreserved. I myself was one of five hundred, the only one that reachedmaturity. Yet all were in the same long ribbon coil. The swan that gulpedthe coil, gulped all but me. I dropped into the brook alone, and there Iquietly passed through my novitiate, egg to tadpole, tadpole to toadling, toadling to toad. When my tail was absorbed into my body, I sought aland-retreat. There I have spent my time for twenty years. None of youknow it, and none ever will. I leave it only at twilight, and, as youpass, I shield my face with my fore feet. Froggin is much the same;nothing but his prolific quality saves him. "

[Illustration: "WILL YOU HEAR AN AMPHIBIAN?" SAID THE TOAD. ]

[Illustration: "FROGGIN IS AT LEAST WORTH EATING, " SAID THE GRASS-SNAKE. ]

"Froggin is at least worth eating, " said the grass-snake. He lay withall his four-foot length displayed in graceful sinuous curves, and waslistened to in silence. Nothing loves a snake, however harmless. "With me, as with the caterpillars, it is mostly bluff. I can swing back my head, and flatten the nape of my neck, as well as any deadly adder. I can alsostrike, but there is no poison behind the blow. My only weapon of offenceis smell, a sickening musty smell, that makes the enemy loose his hold. Once I am halfway down a hole, I'm safe. I set my ratchet scales againstthe sides, and nothing can dislodge me. Only a jerk is dangerous, and thatmust be accomplished before I am fairly fixed. "

[Illustration: "I AM ARMOUR-CLAD, " SAID THE STAG-BEETLE. ]

"I am armour-clad, " said the stag-beetle. "Could there be better methodof defence? Look at the sliding joints of my breastplate. Human skill hascopied it, but never has surpassed it. My horns look formidable, but foroffence are useless. They are far from my eyes, and move but slowly. Giveme time, and I can crush a tender twig between them, and suck its juices. That is all the purpose they serve me, yet they look like branchingantlers, and that also is something. "

"I have heard you all, " said the hedgehog. "I have heard the flier's pointof view from the bat, the gymnast's point of view from the squirrel, theswimmer's point of view from the water-rat, and the assassin's point ofview from the stoat. " For a moment he coiled himself up with a snap, butthe stoat made no remark, so he slowly uncoiled himself, and resumed. "YetI maintain my original contention, there is nothing like spines. 'Thefox's tricks are many; one is enough for the urchin. ' What is the oneunfailing, all-sufficing trick? The proper and judicious use of spines. All of you would use spines if you could. Most of you do. Think of thebramble-thickets, think of the furze, the last resort of valiant stoatand viper, think of the holly, where the sparrows roost. 

"Spines are the proved asylum of the spineless. Nature has flung thembroadcast. She starts low down among the plants, thorn and thistle, gorse and cactus. Then she turns to the sea-urchins and caterpillars andbeetles, then she fashions the globe-fish and thorny devil-lizard, thenshe comes to the birds--spikes are their only weapons--lastly, in me andmine, she reaches the fulness of perfection. 

"Think of the purposes spines serve me. Which of you defies the fox orterrier in the open? I leave the fliers out--running away is not defence. To me a fight is child's play. The more inquisitive my foe, the tighterdo I clinch myself together. They get more harm than I do. "

The last few words were spoken from within. The stoat approached gingerly, and turned the hedgehog over, seeking for a place to jump at. The batwheeled across him, and swerved at the suspicion of those rigid spears. The caterpillars betook themselves once more to feeding. The water-ratslipped quietly down the stream, --she still feared the stoat. The squirrelran openly down his tree-trunk, and secretly up the far side of it. Thefear of the stoat was on him too. So the moon rose, and, for most, thechance of sport that night passed away. 

The hedgehog remained coiled for an hour. Then he shambled away, wellsatisfied. First he eat two pheasant eggs, then a belated frog, and then anestling blackbird. As the sun mounted the eastern sky he once more soughtthe pile of leaves that lay against the hen-house. 

 THE END

 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. 

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