THE BADGER 



on foot as he flies from the bur-tree to the 

 thorn, and we see an old fox moving through 

 the young bracken with lowered head and 

 brush, starting off on his nightly raid. A 

 belated squirrel throws himself from the tree 

 above, runs close by us on the ground, up 

 the stem of a larch, and is soon lost in the 

 sea of green above. A numerous and dis- 

 sipated family of little crested wrens, which 

 should have settled for the night ere this, 

 twitter with diminutive voices as they twist 

 in and out and hang on the boughs of the 

 spruce in front of us. 



Gradually, as the daylight fades, one after 

 another of the singers becomes silent, the 

 sounds of day are hushed, and a perfect 

 silence reigns in the twilight amidst the 

 trees. Without any warning we are con- 

 scious of the clean black-and-white face of 

 an old badger over the earthwork outside 

 his hole, and presently he is all in view, 

 sitting with bowed fore-legs and his head 

 turning on his lithe outstretched neck, scent- 

 ing the night air. There is nothing to excite 

 his suspicion, so he shambles to the nearest 



