e, both stole out to forage in the clearings
and among the thickets on the brow of the hill.

Just as with Lutra, the little otter-cub in the "holt" above the river's
brim, the first weeks of babyhood passed uneventfully, so with Brock,
the badger, nothing of interest occurred till his eyes gradually opened,
and he could enjoy with careless freedom the real beginning of his
woodland life. Even thus early, what may be called the nocturnal
instinct was strong within him. He was alert and playful chiefly at
night, when, deep in the underground hollow, nothing could be heard of
the outer world but the indistinct, monotonous wail of the wind in the
upper passages of the "set." Droll, indeed, were the revels of the young
badgers when the parents were hunting far away. The little creatures,
awakened from a heavy sleep that had followed the last fond attentions
of their mother, were loath to frolic at once with each other in the
lonely, silent chamber. In their parents' absence they felt unsafe; that
mysterious whisper of admonition, unheard but felt, which is the voice
of the all-pervading spirit of the woods forever warning the kindred of
the wild, bade them be quiet till the dawn should bring the mother
badger to the lair once more. So, huddled close, they were for a time
satisfied with a strangely deliberate game of "King of the Castle," the
castle being an imaginary place in the middle of their bed. Towards that
spot each player pushed quietly, but vigorously, one or other gaining a
slight advantage now and again by grunting an unexpected threat into the
ear of a near companion, or by bestowing an unexpected nip on the flank
of the cub that held for the moment the coveted position of king. Withal
this was a sober pastime, unless Brock, the strongest and most
determined member of the family, chanced to provoke his playmates
beyond endurance, and caused a general, reckless scramble, in which tiny
white teeth were bared and tempers were uncontrolled.

As the night wore on, it almost invariably happened, however, that the
"Castle" game gave place to a livelier diversion akin to "Puss in the
Corner," when, on feeble, unsteady legs, the "earth-pigs" romped in
pursuit of each other, or squatted, grunting with excitement, in
different spots near the wall of their nursery. But, tired at last, they
ceased their gambols an hour or so before dawn, lay together in a warm,
panting heap, and slept, till, on the return of their mother to