1 66 -Idylls of the Field. 



galls ; and there is strong evidence that he is a poacher 

 on occasion, devouring not only eggs, but young 

 birds. 



Somewhere in the rift of an old stump, or in a little 

 cave among the twisted roots of some tall beech-tree, 

 he has his stock of acorns laid up against the hard 

 times coming on. 



Not only do mice and squirrels hoard in this way 

 their nuts and beech-mast, but even moles are said to 

 provide against the difficulties of a frosty season by 

 storing earthworms in a hollow in the ground. 



A stone near the squirrel's tree is strewn with 

 broken shells, but that is not his work. His traces 

 lie about in plenty on the ground in the shape of 

 gnawed fir-cones. No, this great flat stone, sunk deep 

 among the moss and leaves, is a sort of stone of sacrifice 

 where all the thrushes of this corner of the wood bring 

 snails, to crack them for their dinners. 



You may often hear the 'tap, tap' among the 

 bushes. Not the sound of striking wood ; no wood- 

 pecker or tit, nothing like it ; but a sound that finishes 

 with a crash, and is followed by a moment of silence, 

 as the bird swallows the kernel, so to speak, of his 

 plunder. 



Still lower winds the pathway. And now, above 

 the deep voice of the pine-trees comes another sound 

 — a sound that rises no higher as the wind blows 

 hard, nor pauses in the intervals of calm. 



It is the murmur of the sea. Now through the 



