and the vole was busy in the littered loam of
the hedgerow, where, during the afternoon, a blackbird had scratched the
leaves away and left some ripe haws exposed to view. Suddenly he heard a
loud, mocking call, apparently coming from the direction of the moon:
"Whoo-hoo! Whoo-hoo-o-o-o!" It was a strangely bewildering sound; so the
vole squatted among the leaves and listened anxiously, every sense alert
to catch the meaning of the weird, foreboding voice. "Whoo-hoo!
Whoo-hoo-o-o-o!"--again, from directly overhead, the cry rang out into
the night. A low squeak of warning, uttered by the father vole as he
dived into his burrow, caused the young mice foraging in the undergrowth
to bolt helter-skelter towards home. Kweek, joining in the general
panic, rushed across the field, and had almost disappeared underground
when he felt the earth and the loose pebbles falling over him, and at
the same time experienced a sharp thrill of pain. Fortunately, his speed
saved him--but only by an inch. The claws of the great brown owl,
shutting like a vice as the bird "stooped" on her prey, laid hold of
nothing but earth and grass, though one keen talon cut the vole's tail
as with a knife, so that the little creature squealed lustily as he ran
along the gallery to seek solace from his mother's companionship in the
central chamber beyond. Yet even there he was not allowed to remain in
peace. Maddened by the scent of a few drops of blood coming from his
wound, the adult voles chased him from the burrow, and drove him out
into the field. Luckily for him the brown owl had meanwhile flown away
with another young vole in her claws. Kweek remained in safety under the
hawthorns till the grey dawn flushed the south-east sky; then, his
injured tail having ceased to bleed, he ventured without fear among his
kindred as they lay huddled asleep in the recesses of their underground
abode.

The year drew to its close, the weather became colder, and an
irresistible desire for long-continued rest took possession of Kweek.
His appetite was more easily satisfied than hitherto; hour after hour,
by night as well as by day, he drowsed in the snug corner where lay the
remains of the nest in which he had been born. Winter, weary and
monotonous to most of the wildlings of the field, passed quickly over
his head. Scarce-broken sleep and forgetfulness, when skies are grey and
tempests rage--such are Nature's gifts to the snake, the bee, and the
flower, as well as to