" WHO'S DONE ANYTHING*" 85 



everything in a careless way, tasting a piece of 

 apple-skin, lifting a bit of thread, toying and 

 dallying to all appearance, as he moved, still 

 always advancing, and never turning aside from 

 his purpose till he reached the distance of a 

 foot from the thrush, crouching motionless with 

 crown feathers erect. At that point he often 

 stood a moment, looking grimly at his victim, 

 then gave a quick, exaggerated jump which 

 carried him forward not more than an inch, 

 but sent the thrush, in a panic, running half 

 across the room, where he brought up in a 

 heap, his claws sprawled as they slipped on 

 the matting, every feather standing up, and 

 made no attempt to draw his feet together. A 

 slow, formal attack he could meet, but a sud- 

 den rush was irresistible. Then the assailant 

 turned, slowly, gracefully, the personification 

 of tranquillity, his air saying, "Who's done 

 anything ? " yet taking a direct line for the 

 enemy, approaching in the same way, by easy 

 stages, but relentlessly drawing nearer and 

 nearer, till he ended by a quick plunge, which 

 sent the thrush off with a cry. In a moment 

 he began again, teasing, following, tormenting ; 

 so wily, so wicked, so determined ! 



The motions of this bird were most bewitching ; 

 his flight the perfection of grace. He never 

 flew straight across the room as if on business, 



