THE SNOW-WALKEES 61 



with his whip; and neither his flesh nor his fur 

 hints the weapon with which he is armed. The 

 most silent creature known to me, he makes no 

 sound, so far as I have observed, save a diffuse, 

 impatient noise, like that produced by beating your 

 hand with a whisk-broom, when the farm-dog has 

 discovered his retreat in the stone fence. He 

 renders himself obnoxious to the farmer by his par- 

 tiality for hens' eggs and young poultry. He is a 

 confirmed epicure, and at plundering hen-roosts an 

 expert. Not the full-grown fowls are his victims, 

 but the youngest and most tender. At night Mother 

 Hen receives under her maternal wings a dozen 

 newly hatched chickens, and with much pride and 

 satisfaction feels them all safely tucked away in her 

 feathers. In the morning she is walking about dis- 

 consolately, attended by only two or three of all 

 that pretty brood. What has happened? Where 

 are they gone? That pickpocket, Sir Mephitis, 

 could solve the mystery. Quietly has he approached, 

 under cover of darkness, and one by one relieved 

 her of her precious charge. Look closely and you 

 will see their little yellow legs and beaks, or part 

 of a mangled form, lying about on the ground. Or, 

 before the hen has hatched, he may find her out, 

 and, by the same sleight of hand, remove every egg, 

 leaving only the empty blood-stained shells to wit- 

 ness against him. The birds, especially the ground- 

 builders, suffer in like manner from his plundering 

 propensities, 

 ^--•^'he secretion upon which he relies for defense. 



