THE BANK VOLE 



sometimes comes the weasel, that terror of all 

 the small creatures, for he is the fiercest and 

 most bloodthirsty of hunters. No bigger in 

 girth than the mice he hunts, he can follow 

 them through all the turns and twists of their 

 runs, through all the windings and secret ways 

 of their burrows. The mouse whose trail he 

 fastens upon is as good as lost ; no matter how 

 it may turn and double, how often its line is 

 crossed and confused by other trails, the 

 skilled hunter will unravel it all, and follow 

 on to the end, until there is a stifled squeak in 

 some dark corner, and that mouse is gone for 

 ever. 



In fact, the red bank vole lives a life of 

 constant danger; death may come at any 

 moment, but I do not think it therefore fol- 

 lows that the little creature is unhappy. Its 

 frights do not last long; crouching close to 

 the ground one moment, frozen by a shadow 

 flitting overhead, next second it will be squeak- 

 ing at its friend for taking the berry that it 

 wanted itself. What matter if the weasel 

 passes through the burrow, sending the family 

 scampering headlong in all directions; they 

 soon come back again, and, if there is one less 

 at the feeding-place, it is no good bothering 



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