Robert Wbite, Jr. 309 



eye could see, except in two directions. The bit of 

 woodland, to which the terrified Whites had fled for 

 shelter, yet remained, but the big field lay bare and 

 bristly with the short, broken stems over which the 

 storm had raged. Of all the glorious cover there 

 was not a vestige with the exception of some thin 

 strips along the fences. Mother White gazed across 

 the waste in amazement. Verily the late Happy 

 Hunting Grounds had been transformed into the 

 other place, and she scarce knew what to do. For 

 that day the lot cowered in the fence corner, picking 

 a few seeds in a half-hearted sort of way, but not 

 daring to leave the shelter, although plenty of 

 scattered grain was plainly visible. As often hap- 

 pens in other families, the one weakling was the 

 hungriest and most reckless. He finally ventured 

 into the stubble and snatched grain after grain, the 

 quest leading him farther and farther from the fence. 

 The others watched enviously, yet heedful of their 

 mother's continued warnings. At last the forager 

 straightened up to force down one more grain into 

 his jammed gullet. His crop stood out hard and 

 round ; he was wheat to his mandibles, and the sight 

 of him made the others prepare for a united raid. 



Then an awful thing happened. Some yards from 

 his position, the top of a big gray clod showed just 

 above the stubble. Such clods are common in grain 

 fields the plough turns up a moist chunk which 

 sometimes hardens like a brick and so remains 

 till the grain is cut. But there are few clods exactly 

 like the one in question. Before the eyes of the 

 amazed Whites it presently rolled forward a little 

 just a little, but it really rolled. Mother White 



