60 THE SNOW-WALKERS 



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 dis- 

 consolately, 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 may find her out, 

 and, by the same sleight of hand, remove every egg, 

 leaving only the empty blood-stained shells to wit- 

 ness against him. The birds, especially the ground- 

 builders, suffer in like manner from his plundering 

 propensities. 



The secretion upon which he relies for defense, 

 and which is the chief source of his unpopularity, 

 while it affords good reasons against cultivating him 

 as a pet, and mars his attractiveness as game, is by 

 no means the greatest indignity that can be offered 

 to a nose. It is a rank, living smell, and has none 

 of the sickening qualities of disease or putrefaction. 

 Indeed, I think a good smeller will enjoy its most 

 refined intensity. It approaches the sublime, and 



