lips. They peered down into the
terrible darkness below, where the glint of two close-set eyes and a
peculiar musty smell told them that a mink was the killer of their fool
brother.

Six little partridges now sat in a row at night, with their mother in
the middle, though it was not unusual for some little one with cold feet
to perch on her back.

Their education went on, and about this time they were taught
'whirring.' A partridge can rise on the wing silently if it wishes, but
whirring is so important at times that all are taught how and when to
rise on thundering wings. Many ends are gained by the whirr. It warns
all other partridges near that danger is at hand, it unnerves the
gunner, or it fixes the foe's attention on the whirrer, while the others
sneak off in silence, or by squatting, escape notice.

A partridge adage might well be 'foes and food for every moon.'
September came, with seeds and grain in place of berries and ant-eggs,
and gunners in place of skunks and minks.

The partridges knew well what a fox was, but had scarcely seen a dog. A
fox they knew they could easily baffle by taking to a tree, but when
in the Gunner Moon old Cuddy came prowling through the ravine with his
bob-tailed yellow cur, the mother spied the dog and cried out, 'Kwit!
kwit!' (Fly, fly). Two of the brood thought it a pity their mother
should lose her wits so easily over a fox, and were pleased to show
their superior nerve by springing into a tree in spite of her earnestly
repeated 'Kwit! kwit!' and her example of speeding away on silent wings.

Meanwhile, the strange bob-tailed fox came under the tree and yapped
and yapped at them. They were much amused at him and at their mother and
brothers, so much that they never noticed a rustling in the bushes
till there was a loud Bang! bang! and down fell two bloody, flopping
partridges, to be seized and mangled by the yellow cur until the gunner
ran from the bushes and rescued the remains.

III

Cuddy lived in a wretched shanty near the Don, north of Toronto. His was
what Greek philosophy would have demonstrated to be an ideal existence.
He had no wealth, no taxes, no social pretensions, and no property to
speak of. His life was made up of a very little work and a great deal
of play, with as much outdoor life as he chose. He considered himself
a true sportsman because he was 'fond o' huntin',' and 'took a sight o'
comfort out of seem' the critters hit the mud, when his gun was fire