THE LITTLE LION 267 



ornamental tail, but just a working organ. There is 

 no black brush at its tip, nor is it a whit longer than 

 you would expect for an animal of his size. It is just 

 an apt termination of that long and sinuous body of 

 somewhat the same colour as his great relative, the 

 lion, with a throat-streak of white that does not run to 

 an extravagant width, and ear-tufts that have not 

 sprouted beyond the limits of efficiency. The weasel 

 is the perfectly dressed fellow whose garments are 

 almost unnoticeable. He keeps himself clean with- 

 out difficulty, and smells like a bit of clean Harris 

 tweed, whereas the fitcher is a good deal too catty to 

 be pleasant. 



We have often wondered whether it was we our- 

 selves that brought the weasel to the homestead. Cer- 

 tainly there was a box-trap set in the spinney here, 

 not far from the trout stream, and in it one morning 

 was a weasel. The box was full of concentrated 

 weasel-smell, and the prisoner was dead stone cold 

 and stiff, but, in the faint hope that he might be alive, 

 we carried him home, and left him on a garden -seat 

 while we went for a spoonful of brandy. At the end 

 of three minutes the seat was clear, and we never saw 

 that weasel, to swear to, again. Then came the wheat- 

 rick weasel and the weasel of the dry wall. Later, we 

 had shot a wood-pigeon, and were waiting to see if 

 another would come, when a weasel came whimpering 

 up the hedge, like a small hound in full cry, hot on 

 the scent of the dead bird which lay beyond. The 

 next weasel day stands in red letters. In a thin 

 bramble-bush under the larches one ran from a 

 mole-run, followed eagerly by another. They dis- 

 appeared right, and almost at once another popped 



