// HO MB COURTIS S' HSRO^RT 157 



article of diet, the hedgehog is on the gipsy's game list, 

 and in country lanes his prickly skin is a sight almost as 

 familiar as the ashes of the camp fire. Having been dug 

 out and killed he is enveloped without further ceremony 

 in a ball of well-kneaded clay, which is placed in the red- 

 hot embers. The cracking of the clay marks the end of 

 the operation. The skin comes off with its earthen shell, 

 disclosing a dainty morsel of white meat within. 



The bark of the fox is not a very familiar sound, but 

 he is as wide awake as ever these cold nights, and levies 

 his blackmail still, often slaughtering in his reckless way 

 far more than he can carry off. 



The badger is of a more indolent turn, and when the 

 weather is severe is content to lie quiet among the warm 

 bedding of his holt ; and when once the snow lies deep 

 about his threshold, it is seldom sullied by his shambling 

 feet. 



For the owl as for the fox, there is no respite, however 

 chill the night, and as he sails from tree to tree he hoots 

 in plaintive tone, as if lamenting the hard fate that 

 drove him forth in such uncomfortable weather. How- 

 ever, he is particularly well protected by his feathered 

 Coat, and probably he feels the cold but little. A terrible 

 foe to the tiny fur-clad dwellers in the field is the bold 

 brown owl. No sound betrays his movements. Silent 

 and unseen, his great wings sweep along. No note of 

 warning reaches the unconscious ears of mouse or vole 

 before the cruel talons sink into its tender sides. 



One would think there was little sport for him these 

 hard nights. But in the warm shelter of the woodland 



