Kagax the Bloodthirsty. 47 



in her brain. The pretty nest would never again wait 

 for a brooding mother in the twiHght. 



All the while the wonderful song went on ; for the 

 hermit thrush, pouring his soul out, far above on the 

 dead spruce top, heard not a sound of the tragedy 

 below. 



Kagax flung the warm body aside savagely, bit 

 through the ends of the three eggs, wishing they were 

 young thrushes, and leaped to the ground. There he 

 just tasted the brain of his victim to whet his appetite, 

 listened a moment, crouching among the dead leaves, 

 to the melody overhead, wishing- it were darker, so 

 that the hermit would come down and he could end 

 his wicked work. Then he glided away to the young 

 hares. 



There were five of them in the form, hidden among 

 the coarse brakes of a little opening. Kagax went 

 straight to the spot. A weasel never forgets. He 

 killed them all, one after another, slowly, deliberately, 

 by a single bite through the spine, tasting only the 

 blood of the last one. Then he wriggled down 

 among the warm bodies and waited, his nose to the 

 path by which Mother Hare had gone away. He 

 knew well she would soon be coming back. 



Presently he heard her, put-a-put, put-a-put, hop- 

 ping along the path, with a waving line of ferns to 



