eful wind of night and from every roving enemy. The haymakers,
moving to and fro amid the swathes, knew nothing of the hedgehogs'
whereabouts; but when the dews of night lay thick on the strewn wild
flowers, the parent "urchins," leaving their helpless charges asleep
within their nest, wondered greatly, while they hunted for snails and
slugs in the ditch, at the quick change that had passed over the silent
field.

For a week or more, the spines sprouting from round projections on the
bodies of the young hedgehogs were colourless and blunt, and so
flexible that they could have offered no defence against the teeth or
the claws of an enemy; while every muscle was so soft and feeble that
not one of the little animals was as yet able to roll itself into the
shape of a ball. The spines, however, served a useful purpose: they kept
the tender skin beneath from being irritated by the chance touch of the
mother hedgehog's obtrusive quills.

Soon the baby hedgehogs' eyes opened wide to the pale light filtering
between the leaves at the entrance to the chamber, and their spines,
gradually stiffening, assumed a dull grey colour. Then, one still, dark
night, the little creatures, with great misgiving, followed their
parents from the nest, and wandered for a short distance beside the
tangled hedge. Presently, made tired and sleepy and hungry by exercise
and fresh air, they were led back to their secret retreat, where, after
being tended for a few moments by their careful mother, they fell
asleep, while their parents searched diligently for food in the dense
grass-clumps left by the harvesters amid the briars and the furze.

Henceforth, every night, they ventured, under their mother's care, to
roam afield, their journeys becoming longer and still longer as their
strength increased, till, familiar with the hedgerow paths, they were
ready and eager to learn the rudiments of such field-craft as concerned
their unpretending lives.

A glorious summer, far brighter than is usual among the rainy hills of
the west, brooded over the countryside. The days were calm and sunny,
but with the coming of evening occasional mists drifted along the
dingles and scattered pearl-drops on the after-math; and the nights were
warm and starlit, filled with the silence of the wilderness, which only
Nature's children break. The "calling season" for the hare had long
since passed, and for the fox it had not yet arrived; so the voices of
the two greatest wande