118 THE RING OF NATURE 



but it breaks full back and is away, then just 

 before you get the sixth chance, which you persuade 

 yourself would be surely successful, the hedge is 

 reached. 



When Mother Weasel leads forth her family of 

 kittens for their first romp in the growing grass 

 and the blue-bells, may my best friend who is not 

 a sportsman be there to see. I met a family party 

 of this kind once in Epping Forest. Six or eight 

 little weasels (I did not see their mother) were 

 playing in the undergrowth of a thin bush riddled, 

 as such places generally are, with shallow mole 

 runs. They seemed to be playing a game of touch, 

 above and below ground. A wide-eyed little face 

 would peep out from a hole evidently on the 

 qui vive to see its opponent before being seen. 

 Then perhaps there would be a pinch behind, and 

 one little weasel would leap forth pursued by 

 another. They would roll over in wrestlers' 

 embrace and then perhaps vanish as through a 

 trap door. In far too short a time, the family had 

 passed swirling into thicker bushes, and I never 

 saw another weasel family at play again. 



It is, we know, sometimes dangerous to inter- 

 fere with these weasel schools, many authentic 

 stories being told of how at the squeaking of an 

 assaulted member, all the others launch them- 

 selves on the enemy, running up his limbs and 

 seeking to attack him in the region that their 

 hunting experience tells them is vital, the jugular. 

 A grown man has found it necessary to run for his 



