CHAPTER X 



BILLY : A MEMOIE OF AN OLD FKIEND 



September 24:th, 1893. — Once more I am strolling in 

 that great meadow where just four months ago I 

 saw the last of Billy. All along the crumbling 

 banks of the stream the water-voles are flopping 

 into the water just as they did on that afternoon ; 

 such sound of life to me is always pleasant, but I 

 am now alone, and there is no little white rough- 

 coated animal to share with me the gentle excite- 

 ment. For eleven long years Billy and these water- 

 voles knew each other well ; on his side there was 

 a constant anticipation of triumph, on theirs as 

 persistent an assurance of escape. Once only in all 

 those years did he realise the hope so often stirred 

 afresh in his sanguine breast. One warm summer 

 afternoon a large, fat, velvety vole had stretched him- 

 self for a nap on the grassy bank in the sun ; Billy, 

 a few yards in front of me, saw that at last his 

 chance had come, and before I could interfere the 

 soft creature had awakened only to be put asleep for 



