rough the weeds. An open space now lay
about. The huntress, flattened like an empty skin, trailed slow and
silent on the ground behind a log no thicker than her neck; if she
could reach that tuft of brush she could get unseen to the weeds and
then would be near enough to spring. She could smell them now--the rich
and potent smell of life, of flesh and blood, that set her limbs
a-tingle and her eyes a-glow.

The Partridges still scratched and fed; another flew to the high top,
but the white one remained. Five more slow-gliding, silent steps, and
the Lynx was behind the weeds, the white bird shining through; she
gauged the distance, tried the footing, swung her hind legs to clear
some fallen brush, then leaped direct with all her force, and the white
one never knew the death it died, for the fateful gray shadow dropped,
the swift and deadly did their work, and before the other birds could
realize the foe or fly, the Lynx was gone, with the white bird
squirming in her jaws.

Uttering an unnecessary growl of inborn ferocity and joy she bounded
into the forest, and bee-like sped for home. The last quiver had gone
from the warm body of the victim when she heard the sound of heavy feet
ahead. She leaped on a log. The wings of her prey were muffling her
eyes, so she laid the bird down and held it safely with one paw. The
sound drew nearer, the bushes bent, and a Boy stepped into view. The
old Lynx knew and hated his kind. She had watched them at night, had
followed them, had been hunted and hurt by them. For a moment they
stood face to face. The huntress growled a warning that was also a
challenge and a defiance, picked up the bird and bounded from the log
into the sheltering bushes. It was a mile or two to the den, but she
stayed not to eat till the sunlit opening and the big basswood came to
view; then a low "prr-prr" called forth the little ones to revel with
their mother in a plenteous meal of the choicest food.

III

THE HOME OF THE LYNX

At first Thor, being town-bred, was timid about venturing into the
woods beyond the sound of Corney's axe; but day by day he went farther,
guiding himself, not by unreliable moss on trees, but by sun, compass,
and landscape features. His purpose was to learn about the wild animals
rather than to kill them; but the naturalist is close kin to the
sportsman, and the gun was his constant companion. In the clearing, the
only animal of any size was a fat Woodchuck; it had a hole under a