Raggylugf 



taking in that part of his little green world that 

 was straight above. A bluejay and a red- 

 squirrel, two notorious thieves, were loudly be- 

 rating each other for stealing, and at one time 

 Rag's home bush was the centre of their fight; 

 a yellow warbler caught a blue butterfly but six 

 inches from his nose, and a scarlet and black 

 ladybug, serenely waving her knobbed feelers, 

 took a long walk up one grassblade, down 

 another, and across the nest and over Rag's 

 face — and yet he never moved nor even winked. 



After a while he heard a strange rustling of 

 the leaves in the near thicket. It was an odd, 

 continuous sound, and though it went this way 

 and that way and came ever nearer, there was 

 no patter of feet with it. Rag had lived his 

 whole life in the Swamp (he was three weeks 

 old) and yet had never heard anything like 

 this. Of course his curiosity was greatly 

 aroused. His mother had cautioned him to 

 lay low, but that was understood to be in case 

 of danger, and this strange sound without foot- 

 falls could not be anything to fear. 



The low rasping went past close at hand, 

 then to the right, then back, and seemed going 



95 



