, for
she shifted about the steep bank of that stream, and up, and
about--here she swore because the spikes pricked her--and down a
holly-bush, as if she had got a rocket tied to her tail. She had not,
of course. She was hunting black rats. I suppose she saw them. If
so, she was the only person who did, and I feel sure that, instant as
she was, when she was up the bank or the holly-bush they were down it,
and when she was down they were up. Finally, when her lost temper had
completely run her out of breath, she slouched away, spitting like a
worn sparking-plug, and very much disgusted. And--the black rats
cleaned themselves!

That night was not a profitable one. The shell-fish of the estuary
were gone, and there was little instead on the stream--only snow, and
the snow fell quietly at intervals throughout the night, hiding
everything. Rats, too, are creatures of warmth. They hate cold as
much as the writer, and these two black rats became very miserable.
They had no home, and did not know where to go; and, save for a few
berries, they had nothing to eat. Mercifully, they had plenty to
drink, and that is an item with rats, who die in a very few hours if
they cannot get a drink.

A bitter, dull paling of the sky, which by courtesy we will call dawn,
found them cleaning again, with their hand-like forepaws, exactly like
cats, inside a water-vole burrow. The owner had been out,
bark-chipping, all night--it was the only thing he could find to keep
body and life from parting company--and was not over-pleased, on his
return, to find that he had company at home. A short two-round contest
ensued, during which the water-vole must have felt as if he had taken
on a bit of black lightning. Then the water-vole went away, somewhat
bewildered, to turn some smaller water-vole out of his winter bed; and
the rats curled themselves up, heads between hindlegs, tail encircling
all, with only their ever-ready, elfin ears poking out to give the
alarm, and they slept. And, by the way, it was a saying in the wild
that no one had ever seen them asleep, or knew if, or how, they did
sleep.

Nothing came to disturb them during the day--which was a wonder, for
all the wild was hungry and looking for food--and at the hour when

Night, busy with her dawn, begins it with a star,

they came out, after a prolonged, starry-eyed stare, from their
fastness, and continued their journey.

Things were serious now. They had not fed, and