102 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



happen. And something did happen, away on in 

 the small hours of the morning, namely — one 

 little skunk. He walked into a trap while I was 

 dozing. He seemed pretty small hunting then, 

 but he looms larger now, for I have learned sev- 

 eral more things about skunks than I knew when 

 I had the talk with my neighbor : I have learned, 

 for one thing, that forty eggs, soon to hatch, are 

 just an average meal for the average half-grown 

 skunk. 



The catching of these two thieves put an end 

 to the depredations, and I began again to exhibit 

 in my dreams, when one night, while sound asleep, 

 I heard a frightful commotion among the hens. I 

 did the hundred-yard dash to the chicken-house 

 in my unforgotten college form, but just in time 

 to see the skunk cross the moonlit line into the 

 black woods ahead of me. 



He had wrought dreadful havoc among the 

 thoroughbreds. What devastation a skunk, single- 

 handed, can achieve in a pen of young chickens 

 beggars all description. 



I was glad that it was dead of night, that the 

 world was home and asleep in its bed. I wanted 

 no sympathy. I wished only to be alone, alone in 



