is
lungs. At last, he felt equal to seeking a renewal of the fight. Once
more he dived, expecting at any instant to feel again that grinding
thrust, that resistless upward blow. Below the salmon throng he peered
about through the glimmer. Far down, he made out the shape of his
opponent, lying motionless on the bottom. Obviously, there was nothing
more to be feared from that still bulk, which seemed to sway gently in
the current. The victor returned to the surface.

Lifting his head high above the water, he scanned the whole empty,
pallid world. No enemy, no possible rival, was to be seen. Weak as he
was and weary, he killed two or three more of the ceaselessly passing
salmon just to reassure himself. Then, with the largest prize in his
jaws, he swam slowly to the rock, crawled ashore, and lay down in sullen
triumph to lick his wounds.

[Illustration: "LAY DOWN IN SULLEN TRIUMPH TO LICK HIS WOUNDS."]

The Little Tyrant of the Burrows

Along the edge of the woodland he found the young, green turf of the
pasture close and soft. As he paused for a moment with his long,
trunk-like nose thrust into it, his fine sense could detect nothing but
the cool tang of the grass-stems, the light pungency and sweetness of
the damp earth below. With a savage impatience of movement he jerked
himself a foot or more to one side, and again thrust his nose into the
turf. Here he evidently detected something more to his taste than the
sweetness of grass and earth, for he began to dig fiercely, biting the
matted roots apart, and tearing up the soil with his powerful little
fore paws. In a few seconds he dragged forth a fat, cream-coloured grub
about an inch and a half in length, with a copper-coloured head. The
grub twisted and lashed about, but was torn apart and eaten on the spot.
The victor ate furiously, wrinkling his flexible snout away from his
prey in a manner that gave him a peculiarly ferocious, snarling
expression.

Nearly six inches in length, with a round, sturdy body, short tail, very
short, sturdy legs, and fine fur of a clouded leaden gray, this fierce
and implacable little forager might have been mistaken by the careless
observer for an ordinary mole. But such a mistake on the part of any
creature not larger than a ground-sparrow or wood-mouse or lizard would
have resulted in instant doom; for this tiny beast, indomitable as a
terrier and greedy for meat as a mink, was the mole-shrew.

Having devoured the fat grub,