'MY INFANCY^ 



47 



One more battle did our good mother fight for 

 us, and that was the last, and it is rather a sad 

 story to finish up with ; but I am bound to tell it 

 to you, or the chapter of my infancy would not be 

 complete. 



W e had gone for a sleep in our nest — the only 

 three of us who were left. All the others had — 

 what nice expression will do for them all ? ' Taken 

 up their abode elsewhere ' might do, though it is 

 not very poetical ; * Gone to see how the violets 



and primroses grow ' 1 don't know : you try. 



Mother, as usual, was drowsing in front of the 

 nest. Suddenly we were awakened by the sound 

 of a hideous conflict, and we knew from the smell 

 that a weasel had come down our passage. We 

 lay there trembling, and listened with all our ears. 

 The bumpings and scufflings meant that neither 

 could catch hold ; but we were terribly afiraid, 

 because a rat wants room to fight really well. A 

 weasel is a clumsy fighter in the open compared 

 with an active rat, but he is quicker in a hole. I 

 saw one once try to catch a young rabbit, who was 

 so terrified that he could hardly move. Of course, 

 he was much bigger than the weasel, but he 

 was so paralyzed with fear that the weasel had 

 only to jump on to his back, and fix his sharp little 



