eir
fore-legs, made their way, tail first, to the mound, and thence, in the
same manner, along their underground galleries, as far as the place
intended for its reception, strewing everywhere in the path proofs of
their presence, quite sufficient for any naturalist visiting their
haunts.

On a dark, wet night rather less than a fortnight after they had
completed their preparations, when Brock returned to his home for
shelter from the driving storm, three little cubs were lying by their
mother's side.

The training of the badger-cubs during the first two months was left
wholly to their dam; but afterwards Brock shared the work with his mate,
teaching the youngsters, by his example, how to procure food, and, at
the same time, to detect and to avoid all kinds of danger. In so doing,
he simply acted towards his cubs as his sire had acted towards him.
Apart from family ties, however, his life--that of a strong, deliberate
animal, self-possessed in peril and in conflict, yet shy and cautious to
a fault--was of extreme interest to both naturalist and sportsman.

Five young foxes, as well as the vixen, now dwelt in the antechamber
near the main entrance of the "set," and the presence of this numerous
family became, for several reasons, so objectionable to the she-badger,
that, about the middle of May, the antipathy which, since her
partnership with Brock, she had always felt towards the vixen, was
united with a fixed determination to get rid of her neighbours. She was
too discreet, however, to attempt to rout them during the day, when some
dreaded human being might be attracted by the noise; so she endeavoured
to surprise the vixen and her cubs together at night.

For a while, she was unsuccessful. She happened to frighten them by an
impetuous, blustering attack in the rear, from which they easily
escaped; thus her difficulties had been increased, since the objects of
her aversion became loath to stay in the "earth" after nightfall. But
at last, probably more through accident than set purpose, the badger
out-manoeuvred the wily foxes.

Lying one evening in the doorway, she heard the vixen, followed by the
young foxes, creeping stealthily from the den. Retreating quickly, she
barred their exit, thus compelling them to return to their lair; then
she took up her position in the neck of the passage, and waited
patiently till midnight before commencing her assault. At last, in the
dense darkness, she crawled along the winding