The Way of a Weasel 



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AS I was hurrying down the path past 

 /% my neighbor's summer lodge, " Slab- 

 -* ^^ sides," at the edge of the rocky woods, 

 this morning, I heard a commotion in the brush, 

 and an instant later saw rushing across the 

 road ahead of me a pullet closely followed by a 

 weasel, the latter going very easily as compared 

 with the chicken's frantic haste. 



My neighbor happened to be standing by 

 his doorstep, and, running forward to meet the 

 pair, stamped his foot on the weasel just an 

 instant after it had leaped upon the hen, whose 

 gray feathers were already flying. The 

 marauder's first stroke had had almost the 

 deadly effect of a charge of shot, and although 

 the pullet struggled away into the shelter of 

 some vines (not thinking of coming to us for 

 protection), I suspect she never got well. 



Reaching down, my neighbor released and 



