The Wit of the Wild 



r 



mother and four little ones, perhaps a quarter 

 grown. In the first surprise the mother darted 

 under a rock, whining a danger-signal to her 

 children, one of which I knocked on the head 

 to add as an instructive specimen to my collec- 

 tion of skins; while the others, too young to 

 understand their danger, dodged about among 

 the leaves. 



The instant I stooped to pick up the dead 

 kitten the mother rushed at my hand, and I 

 had to draw back quickly to escape her. She 

 stopped at my feet and sat up on her haunches, 

 her lips drawn back, her eyes gleaming, and 

 every hair on end, whining and daring me to 

 come on. I stood perfectly still, and in a min- 

 ute she dropped down on all fours, and, always 

 keeping her eye upon me a giant to her appre- 

 hensive view coolly began to collect her babies, 

 and carry them off, one by one, in her mouth, 

 to a place of safety under a rock, where per- 

 haps was their home. A lion could not have 

 shown more clean courage and indifference to 

 danger than that small mink mother. 



IA. relative of mine, a preacher and truthful, 

 + 6 



