The Boy and the Lynx 
The Partridges still scratched and fed; an- 
other flew to the high top, but the white one 
remained. Five more slow-gliding, silent steps, 
and the Lynx was behind the weeds, the white 
bird shining through; she gauged the distance, 
tried the footing, swung her hind legs to clear 
some fallen brush, then /eaged direct with all her 
force, and the white one never knew the death 
it died, for the fateful gray shadow dropped, 
the swift and deadly did their work, and before 
the other birds could realize the foe or fly, the 
Lynx was gone, with the white bird squirming 
in her jaws. 
Uttering an unnecessary growl of inborn fero- 
city and joy she bounded into the forest, and 
bee-like sped for home. ‘The last quiver had 
gone from the warm body of the victim when 
she heard the sound of heavy feet ahead. She 
leaped on a log. The wings of her prey were 
muffling her eyes, so she laid the bird down and 
held it safely with one paw. The sound drew 
nearer, the bushes bent, and a Boy stepped into 
view. The old Lynx knew and hated his kind. 
She had watched them at night, had followed 
them, had been hunted and hurt by them. For 
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