THE NATURALIST DEVELOPING. 55 



back upon itself, so that for a long time we cannot make it 

 out but Pompey strikes a circuit round in tbe wood, and 

 after awhile he shouts 



" Here he am, Massa Chas. ! Got her agin ! soon find dat 

 hollow, now !" 



Away we tramp again Pompey as eager on the new trail 

 as any hound crashing through hazel thickets falling over 

 buried logs and grape vines to be up and scramble on again 

 until " Ha ! that great old oak tree ! That's the place 

 see, the tracks go right into the hollow at its root." 



" We've got her ! we've got her !" 



Matches were not known in those days, but we had a little 

 steel and flint, with some " punk" between us, and now soon 

 we had scraped away the snow to get at the dry leaves, and 

 broken off all the dead boughs and twigs we could find around 

 for a heap a great heap at the mouth of the hole. 



It was very hard to keep Milo's nose out, for snuff and 

 snuff he would in spite of us, when we turned our backs. 

 Now the punk burns the pile is fired, and then we throw on 

 damp leaves to make a great smoke to rise up the hollow. 

 Milo stands by, looking on now with a very wise expectation 

 but Pompey kneels by his side, and holds him round the 

 neck tight. A little while ! we hear snuff ! snuff ! and scram- 

 bling inside the hollow ! Now she comes ! thump ! sneeze ! 

 There she bursts through the smoking pile stifling and help- 

 less. I seize her quickly. 



" Down, Milo ! down ! Hold him, Pomp !" as I wheel round 

 and round to escape him, swinging poor Molly above my head. 

 Now she has got her breath again. Quai ! quai ! quai ! How 

 sad her wail is ! But, after a desperate struggle, Milo is beat 

 off, and she is saved ! 



By the time the snow was gone, my attic had become popu- 

 lous enough ; but when the busy, gay and glowing spring had 

 come, and the carolling out of doors, and the warm, deepen- 

 ing green, and the faint odors of the youngest flowers came 



