The Hunting Year 



of little finches flutter their wings as one of our 

 number carelessly touches the bush in which 

 they are taking their night's rest. A weasel 

 chatters in the distance, but his voice is soon 

 hushed. We turn to the right and proceed 

 farther into the heart of the wood. All around 

 us is that silence which is so pregnant with life 

 — that silence of the woods which is tangible — 

 almost audible. 



And we have come to our journey's end. In 

 front of us is a small open space, a little hillock 

 in the midst of it — round it the thickest of 

 covert, and not very far off there is the ripple 

 of water. Carefully hidden in the thick covert 

 we wait events. 



Presently we see a pair of bright eyes shining 

 through the darkness. There they are, motion- 

 less at first, then they move a little, and a sharp 

 little nose is outlined in the moonlight. Then 

 confidence fully established, out into the open 

 comes a smart, three-parts grown cub. Soon 

 he is followed by another and another till there 

 are five of them out, and they begin a wild race 



after each other, round and round the hillock. 



18 



