148 Next to the Ground 



squawking and fluttering among the hens 

 with young broods waked him he ran to the 

 hovels, saw a gray furry thing slide away from 

 them, leap upon the fence, follow it to the 

 gate, spring thence into a black walnut tree 

 growing beside it, run along the walnut boughs 

 until they lapped those of an oak above the 

 wood pile, scutter through the oak, and down 

 its trunk, and at last disappear under the 

 logs. 



When they got him out at dawn, they 

 found the whole place full of shells and 

 feathers and bones. The sly rascal had 

 harbored there, right under the noses of 

 everybody, choosing a route back and forth 

 the wisest dog could not follow. It was 

 early spring, so Joe knew his mate had 

 whipped him away from the nest. She had 

 just got her young in her pouches, so needed 

 all the room herself. Like the mother-hawk, 

 she is bigger than her mate, also a better 

 fighter. She will fight almost anything for 

 her young until they are big enough to run 

 and climb. For six weeks after they are 

 born she keeps them snug in the pouches 

 underneath her. When she sits up you see 

 funny little heads each side, sticking out of 

 the slit between the pouches, or suckling, 

 very much as pigs suck. They do not stay 

 constantly in the pouches. They creep out 



