s in no hurry to find himself a spouse; he waited till the end
of winter. Meanwhile, the colour of his coat changed from yellow to
full, dark grey, and simultaneously a change became apparent in his
disposition. Wild fancies seized him; from dusk to dawn he wandered with
clumsy gait over the countryside, little heeding how noisily he lumbered
through the undergrowth. The gaunt jack-hare, that, crying out in the
night, hurried past him, was not a whit more crazy.

At one time, Brock met a young male badger in the furze, attacked him
vigorously, and left him more dead than alive. At another time, he even
turned his rage against his sire. The old badger was by no means
unwilling to resent provocation: he, too, felt the hot, quick blood of
spring in his veins. The fight was fierce and long--no other wild animal
in Britain can inflict or endure such punishment as the badger--and it
ended in victory for Brock. His size and strength were greater than his
father's; he also had the advantage of youth and self-confidence; but
till its close the struggle was almost equal, for the obstinate
resistance of the experienced old sire was indeed hard to overcome.
Brock forced him at last from the corner where he stood with his head to
the wall, and hustled him out of doors. Then the victor hastened to the
brook to quench his thirst, and, returning to the "set," sought to sleep
off the effects of the fight. When he awoke, he found that the mother
badger had gone to join her evicted mate. The inseparable couple
prepared a disused part of the "set" for future habitation; there they
collected a heap of dry bedding, and, free from further interruption,
were soon engaged with the care of a second family.

For nearly a week after his big battle, Brock felt stiff and sore, and
altogether too ill to extend his nightly rambles further than the
boundaries of the wood. But with renewed health his restlessness
returned, and he wandered hither and thither in search of a mate to
share his dwelling. A knight-errant among badgers, he sought adventure
for the sake of a lady-love whose face he had not even seen.

Sometimes, to make his journeys shorter than if the usual trails from
wood to wood had been followed, he used the roads and by-ways leading
past the farmsteads, and risked encounter with the watchful sheep-dogs.
For this indiscretion, he almost paid the penalty of his life. Crossing
a moonlit field on the edge of a covert, he saw a flock of sheep