60 SQUIRRELS AND OTHER FUR-BEARERS 



No animal is more cleanly in its habits than 

 he. He is not an awkward boy who cuts his 

 own face with his whip ; and neither his flesh 

 nor his fur hints the weapon with which he is 

 armed. The most silent creature known to me, 

 he makes no sound, so far as I have observed, 

 save a diffuse, impatient noise, like that produced 

 by beating your hand with a whisk-broom, when 

 the farm-dog has discovered his retreat in the 

 stone fence. He renders himself obnoxious to 

 the farmer by his partiality for hens' eggs and 

 young poultry. He is a confirmed epicure, and 

 at plundering hen-roosts an expert. Not the full- 

 grown fowls are his victims, but the youngest and 

 most tender. At night Mother Hen receives 

 under her maternal wings a dozen newly hatched 

 chickens, and with much pride and satisfaction 

 feels them all safely tucked away in her feathers. 

 In the morning she is walking about disconso- 

 lately, attended by only two or three of all that 

 pretty brood. What has happened ? Where are 

 they gone ? That pickpocket, Sir Mephitis, could 

 solve the mystery. Quietly has he approached, 

 under cover of darkness, and one by one relieved 

 her of her precious charge. Look closely, and 

 you will see their little yellow legs and beaks, or 

 part of a mangled form, lying about on the 

 ground. Or, before the hen has hatched, he 



