THE SHORT-TAILED FIELD VOLE 



muffled squeak, and off flies the little falcon 

 with the vole in its claws. The kestrel's chat- 

 tering cry is heard, and then silence sinks 

 on the colony, save for the song of a lark 

 far overhead, which is singing at a height even 

 greater than that at which the kestrel was 

 4 waiting on.' * 



However, fear does not last long with these 

 small creatures ; they do not waste time looking 

 for a friend who has disappeared, or in wonder- 

 ing what has happened. Friends and relations 

 daily vanish, they go no mouse knows whither, 

 so they do not worry ; while food is good and 

 plentiful it is a case of gnaw and nibble and do 

 not bother. Young mice grow up to take the 

 place of the old, and on the whole the numbers 

 of the colony remain about the same. 



The danger past, a mouse or two sits up 

 and washes its face, then they set to work to 

 nibble more busily than ever. One runs to 

 this blind alley, another to the next, some sit 

 on the doorsteps of the holes and clean and 

 preen themselves ; others, tired by hard eating 

 and by the fright, go down the holes and sleep 

 in warm beds made of shredded grass tucked 



1 ' Waiting on,' a term used in falconry when the hawk waits 

 and watches for its prey to be put up beneath it. 



265 



