isy birds followed the intruder to the far end of the
slope; then, returning to their roosting places, they squabbled for the
choice of sheltered perches among the ivied boughs. Silence fell on
upland and valley; and the creatures of the night crept forth from bank
and hedgerow, and the thickets of the wood, to play and feed under the
friendly protection of the fast-gathering gloom. But the field-vole
would not venture from his lair beside the stone.

A convenient tunnel, arched with grass-bents, led thither from the
burrow, the post of observation being shaped through frequent use into
an oval "form." The vole, though anxious to begin his search for food,
was not satisfied that the way was clear to the margin of the fir
plantation, for the air was infused with many odours, some so strong and
new that he could easily have followed their lines, but others so faint
and old that their direction and identity were alike uncertain. From the
signs that were fresh the vole learned the story of field-life for the
day. Horses, men, and hounds had hurried by in the early morning, and
with their scent was mingled that of a fleeing fox. Later, the farmer
and his dog had passed along the hedge, a carrion crow had fed on a
scrap of refuse not a yard from the stone, and a covey of partridges had
"dusted" in the soft soil before leaving the pasture by a gap beside a
clump of furze. Blackbirds, thrushes, yellow-hammers, and larks had
wandered by in the grass, a wood-pigeon and a squirrel had loitered
among the acorns under the oak, and a hedgehog had led her young through
the briars. Rabbits, too, had left their trails in the clover, and a red
bank-vole had strayed near the boundaries of the field-vole's colony.
Their signs were familiar to the vole from experience; he detected them
and singled them out from the old trails with a sense even truer than
that of the hounds as they galloped past in the morning's chase.

There was one distinct scent, however, that baffled him. At first he
believed it to be that of a weasel, but it lacked the pungent strength
inseparable from the scent of a full-grown "vear."

Gathering courage as the darkness deepened, the field-vole rustled from
his lair, ran quickly down the slope, and crept through a wattled
opening into the wood. He found some fallen hawthorn berries among the
hyacinth leaves that carpeted the ground, and of these he made a hasty
meal, sitting on his haunches, and holding his food in his