s pace,
being carried before the wind, and the moor-hen, not without a great
deal of trouble, managed to wheel round (she was never very clever with
her wings) to receive his commands, for she did not dare to pass over or
slight so high a personage.

"Moor-hen," said the weasel, "do you go direct to the hills and find
Ulu, the hare, and tell her that little Sir Bevis, of whom she is so
fond, is lost in the copse, and that he is crying bitterly because of
the darkness and the wind, and what will become of him I do not know. I
have done my very best to show him the way home, but he cherishes an
unfortunate prejudice against me, and will not listen to what I say.
Therefore if the hare does not come immediately and show him the way I
greatly fear that he will be knocked down by the branches, or cry his
dear pretty darling heart out; and tell her that he is at this minute
close to the birches. Go quickly, Moor-hen."

"I will, my lord," said the moor-hen, and away she flew.

Then the weasel proceeded on his way, and shortly afterwards arrived at
the farm. As he came quietly down from the rick-yard, he said to
himself: "I will keep a good way from the wall, as it is so dark, and I
do not know the exact place where Bevis has put the trap. Besides, it is
just possible that the rat may not yet have passed that way, for he does
most of his business in the early morning, and it is not yet dawn."

So he crossed over to the wood-pile and listened carefully, but could
hear no groans, as he had expected; but, on consideration, he put this
down to the wind, which he observed blew the sound away from him. He
then slipped over to the grass by the cart-house wall, intending to
listen at the mouth of the drain to hear if the rat was within, and then
if that was not the case, to go on along towards the wall of the
pig-sty, for he began to think the rat must have been stunned by the
trap, and so could not squeak.

If that was the case, he thought he would just bite off the end of the
rat's tail, in revenge for the terrible meal he had once been obliged to
make upon his own, and also to wake up the rat to the misery of his
position. But just as he approached the mouth of the drain, sniffing and
listening with the utmost caution, it happened that a drop of rain fell
through a chink in the top of Pan's tub, and woke him from his slumber.
Pan shook himself and turned round, and the weasel, hearing the
disturbance, dreaded lest Pan was loose,