spell. And proudly she led them away to another feeding ground.

What more the Child might have seen had time been allowed him will
never be known, for now the session was interrupted. He was hoping for
a porcupine to come by, or a deer, or a moose. He was half-hoping,
half-fearing that it might be a bear, or a big Canadian lynx with
dreadful eyes and tufted ears. But before any of these more formidable
wonders arrived he heard a sound of rushing--of eager, desperate
flight. Then a rabbit came into view--he felt sure it was one of the
two who appeared at the beginning of his watch. The poor beast was
plainly in an ecstasy of terror, running violently, but as it were
aimlessly, and every now and then stopping short, all of a-tremble, as
if despair were robbing it of its powers. It ran straight past the
poplar sapling, swerved off to the right, and disappeared; but the
Child could hear the sound of its going and perceived that it was
making a circle. A couple of seconds later came the weasel, running
with its nose in the air, as if catching the scent from the air rather
than from the fugitive's tracks.

The weasel did not seem to be in any hurry at all. It was the picture
of cool, deadly, implacable determination. And the Child hated it
savagely. Just opposite the poplar sapling it paused, seeming to
listen. Then it bounded into the bushes on a short circle, saving
itself unnecessary effort, as if it had accurately estimated the
tactics of its panic-stricken quarry. A few moments later the rabbit
reappeared, running frantically. Just as it came once more before the
poplar sapling--not more than a couple of yards from the Child's feet,
out from under a neighboring bush sprang the weasel, confronting it
fairly. With a scream the rabbit stopped short and crouched in its
tracks, quivering, to receive its doom.

The weasel leaped straight at its victim's throat. But it never
arrived. For at that moment the Child gave vent to a shrill yell of
indignation and jumped at the slayer with hands, eyes and mouth wide
open. He made such a picture that Uncle Andy exploded. The astonished
weasel vanished. The rabbit, shocked back into its senses, vanished
also, but in another direction. And the Child, pulling himself
together, turned to his uncle with a very red face.

"I'm sorry!" he said sheepishly. "I'm so sorry, Uncle Andy. But I
just _couldn't_ help it. I didn't think."

"Oh, well!" said Uncle Andy, ge