Wee Timrous Beasties | Page 5

pinned afresh.
Then he was flung into the air and caught like a ball, dashed aside and
caught again, and swung, and twirled, and shaken, until he was too
dazed to move a limb, and lay, a yard away from his tormentor, staring
stupidly into her eyes. Yet he had received no mortal hurt.
He owed his rescue to a human hand, and the hand smoothed his poor
draggled coat, and pushed him inside his hole, while the cat
complacently purred. For two long hours he lay just within the entrance,
exhausted, but unattainable, and for two long hours the cat sat waiting
for his reappearance. Whenever he raised his head their eyes met.
* * * * *

Their eyes were meeting now. Consciousness returned to him for a few
seconds, and in those few seconds his blood turned to water, even as
before. She sat on the window-ledge outside. Her muzzle was pressed
against 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 the
corn-bin. Now, a house-mouse has no right whatever in the corn-bin,
and yet it was a point of honour with the house-mice that they should
visit their stable relations at least once a week. It was the love of
excitement, 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
shadowy side of the wall, or made a bold dash in the open. Then the
simplest way into 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 the certainty of falling into the water-tank if one missed one's hold.
Finally, the stable itself was the training-ground for the household
kittens.
[Illustration: THEIR STABLE RELATIONS.]
It was not a kitten, however, but a dog that so nearly terminated his
career. There must have been thirty or forty mice in the corn-bin at the
time. The lid was suddenly flung open, their eyes were dazzled by the
blaze of an upheld lantern, and, before they could realize their position,
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 down
behind it. But, from where he lay, he could hear plainly enough what
was happening. The mice were leaping in every direction against the
polished sides of the bin, missing their footing and falling back into the

terrier's mouth. His final recollection was of five and twenty small
corpses laid out in a neat row upon the stable floor. Perhaps half a
dozen 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 on
end. The door was standing open, but a shadow hung across it, and the
mouse felt the shadow--and shrieked.

[Illustration]
THE STORY OF A FIELD VOLE
His earliest recollections were somewhat confused, nor is this to be
wondered at, for he was one of eight, and in the same hole lived
another family of seven, fifteen tiny creatures in all, of the same age
and outwardly indistinguishable.
Under such circumstances it is difficult to retain one's individuality, let
alone one's impressions. Moreover some little time had elapsed before
he really saw his companions. Not that he was long actually blind,--that
is the prerogative of the carnivora, but his career commenced some feet
below the surface of the earth, at the termination of a long winding
burrow, and a full fortnight had elapsed before he eluded his mother's
vigilance, and, after a clumsy scrambling ascent, beheld for the first
time the tall green grasses which shrouded the entrance, and the blue of
the 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 time
little better than down; Nature's brilliant colouring only dazzled and
frightened him; his tender skin shrank from contact with the
sharp-edged herbage, and, after a short blundering excursion, he was
glad to scuttle down below once more.
His next effort was more successful. His fur had thickened, and, like all
good voles, he had the sense to defer his exit