WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
Spidcogue, settling down to roost, saw them 
and swore. Shacaim caught the warning 
note, broke off in the midst of a gurgle, and 
ran to covert like a quail, and as silently. 
Nevertheless he was seen. 
The rat did not spring that 
was not a mode of attack 
which he affected. Instead, 
he sat up and polished his 
whiskers hungrily. This is a 
custom of the rat. Reconsiders 
that a little by-play of this 
kind tends to reassure his quarry, 
or any other game which may 
happen to be within sight. 
At any rate, supposing that he 
has made a false move, it is 
wise to cover up failure grace- 
fully, by pretending that all 
along nothing was intended but an innocent 
toilet. 
Shacaim ran into his dormitory, and squatted 
down in the dark. Then his heart misgave him 
it would be safer above ground. . . . He sud- 
denly felt the wild bird's inexpressible fear of 
enclosing walls, the tree-roots seemed to hem 
him in. . . . He would have turned back, but the 
dim oval of the entrance was blocked by some 
moving thing. The rat was sniffing outside. 
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