64 



THE RAT 



most things, and a cuckoo would want such a pile 

 of caterpillars to keep him alive that he would have 

 none to spare for his family. And so the breed 

 would have become extinct if the good fairy, who 

 likes plenty of music in the spring, had not said 

 that he could lay a little egg in the nest of some- 

 body else, who would always be proud of the 

 honour. 



And so July came at last, and the corn began to 

 ripen. You can hardly realize all that the coming 

 of July means to a multitude of creatures. The 

 birds, indeed, have been pretty well off for a long 

 time in the way of food, with plenty of insects and 

 caterpillars about ; but, then, they have had all the 

 worries of nursery life, and have had no real time 

 for enjoyment, and the rats and mice, except for 

 the joy that spring awakens in the blood, have been 

 living on very indifferent food. Green grass, fresh 

 and young, and wet with dew ; daisies and butter- 

 cups ; the music of larks and blackbirds ; the busy 

 hum of bumble-bees and gnats — all these are very 

 delightful. The world and I were young together, 

 and I found it a very jolly playmate. I rolled in 

 the dewy grass to wash my back and face ; I ran 

 races with the little puffs of wind, and squeaked 

 with delight to feel the flowers tickle my sides as I 



