212 



THE RAT 



came out to fly to their proper home, and sent his 

 boy to the other end with a big black dog, and the 

 boy never went in himself, only the dog came rum- 

 maging about, and his ideas were entirely set on 

 the pheasants, so that he did not trouble his head 

 about me. 



Therefore my lines were cast in pleasant places, 

 in spite of the horrid cold, which brought the birds 

 tumbling off the branches at night, stone-dead and 

 frozen stiff. I might have eaten them if it had 

 not been for the corn and raisins ; but I fancy that 

 I should still have starved, for the poor little 

 beggars had precious little on their bones — just 

 skin and a puffy bunch of feathers. Even the owls 

 had gone away to better hunting-grounds, so that, 

 for once in my life, I had nothing to fear, for the 

 weasels had been pretty well exterminated. 



My bad time, however, came in February, for 

 the old man saw fit to leave off shooting, and con- 

 sequently there was no more corn. An old cock 

 pheasant, with whom I had words, told me scorn- 

 fully that it was the close season for him, and that 

 it was beneath his dignity to bandy words with any 

 animal who could lawfully be killed all the year 

 round. I could not think of the proper retort at 

 the time, and had to content myself with turning 



