THE MIGHTY DREAD. 219 
ness, quite alone, and, in the half of an instant, 
of being not alone. Indeed, it seemed as if a 
tent had suddenly collapsed, and he was inside 
it. That was the impression. Only this tent 
was of feathers—warm feathers ; soft, downy, 
white feathers—and it smelt rather sickeningly 
musky. 
I think that mouse’s heart took one big 
leap up into his throat, and stayed there. He 
became amazingly anxious to get out from 
under the pitch-dark, smothering cover. But 
how ? 
Then, I fancy, instinct, handed down from 
a thousand ancestors, must have come to his 
aid, or perhaps he was too much pressed down. 
Anyway, he did not move at all at first ; and 
when he did, it was only to back very, very 
gently and carefully, and as flat to the snow 
on the ‘table’ as ever he had condensed 
himself in all his life. Perhaps it was the 
snow that saved him, allowing him almost to 
burrow into it. 
Soon he became aware that the apparent 
collapsed tent of feathers had developed either 
a claw, or a claw-like beak, which was feeling 
for him quietly and purposefully underneath 
itself, so to speak. It was a horrible time, 
and the mouse, to judge by appearance, 
seemed likely to die of palpitation on the 
