WILD LIFE OF ORCHARD AND FIELD 



whose feathers were already flying hke thistle- 

 down. 



Reaching down, my neighbor lifted the weasel 

 by the nape of the neck between his thumb and 

 forefinger, and held him out for us to view — an 

 image of impotent rage. 



His head was like a round wedge, his ears lay 

 flat back, his round, black eyes glowed like jet 

 beads, and the long-whiskered white lips, flecked 

 with blood, were drawn back from a jagged row of 

 needle-pointed, ivory-white teeth, in a snarl that 

 portrayed a bandit captured but not conquered. 

 He writhed and squirmed in the man's firm grasp, 

 trying his best to get his teeth into the detaining 

 fingers, and did succeed in scratching them with 

 a pair of canines already smeared with blood from 

 the wounded pullet. 



It would be hard to draw a finer picture of baffled 

 fury than that little creature exhibited. He knew 

 he was doomed, for he remembered other chickens 

 he had caught and killed; and had he acted like 

 a coward he would simply have been drowned in 

 the horse - trough or had his brains dashed out 

 against a rock. But his bold spirit against over- 

 whelming odds — his unquenchable courage — won 

 him a better fate, for, calling his dog, my friend 



23 



