98 



THE RAT 



a long time for a rat to remember anything, unless 

 he comes to write a book and really tries to recall 

 the scenes of his past life, as I am doing now. 

 Something else is sure to happen which wipes out 

 the recollection of yesterday, and it is just as well 

 that it should be so, or we should not be the merry, 

 happy animals which you would find us to be if 

 only you knew us better. For instance, even as 

 we were flying panic-stricken from that scene of 

 sorrow, a rat, who was quite a friend of mine, so 

 far forgot the precepts of his youth and the practice 

 of his age as to rush through a tempting little gap 

 in the corner where two hedges met — always a 

 most dangerous path for any animal — and in so 

 doing he displaced a neat little arrangement of 

 sticks, pretty much the same as you will find in 

 the ordinary brick trap which boys set for our 

 friends the sparrows, thereby allowing a heavy tile 

 to fall upon himself ; and that was the end of another 

 fine rat, as fine a rat as you could wish to see. It 

 was very foolish of him, for the trap had been set 

 by a gamekeeper for our enemy the weasel. I had 

 watched him set it myself, but never thought to 

 warn a clever, well-educated rat not to run care- 

 lessly through so dangerous a place. 



I might tell you how, one very severe winter, I 



