Wee Timrous Beasties | Page 9

and he was discovered. He had barely time to back into a corner, before she was upon him, and at the first nip, he knew that he had met a better vole. Over they rolled, scratching, biting, tearing. Her sharp, chisel teeth met in his ear and tore the half of it away. The blood blinded him, but he stuck grimly to his task.
[Illustration: SHE SWUNG ROUND, AND HE WAS DISCOVERED.]
Physically he was at an immense disadvantage. His clumsy movements availed but little against the fierce agility of the red vole. Time after time he snapped at her and missed; for, even as he aimed, she could swing her lithe body round and leap upon him from behind. Nor, when they grappled, could he retain his hold on her. Against the leverage of those powerful hind legs he could do nothing.
His cause, moreover, was a bad one. Was he not the intruder? and when was ever mercy accorded to such among four-footed things? His strength was fast failing when he fled, hotly pursued, up to the open once more. He only exchanged one foe for four. Lacerated, faint, and bleeding, he crouched, waiting for their attack. It was a short and savage one. An owl hooted above, the red voles rushed to cover, but he remained behind.
He had only really felt one bite. A pair of razor teeth had nipped his spine, and--he had hardly noticed a dozen other wounds. He was terribly thirsty, and struggled to reach a dewdrop which hung above his head, but his hind legs were paralyzed and powerless. Gradually his eyelids drooped, and he sank slowly over on one side. It was growing very dark and very cold.

THE APOLOGY OF THE HOUSE SPARROW
(NOTE.--It would not be morally profitable to describe how I learnt Sparrowese. The language of the sparrow is the language of the gutter. I have Englishized it throughout.)
"I was the odd egg, for one thing," said the sparrow. He was speaking with his mouth full, as usual.
[Illustration: HE WAS SPEAKING WITH HIS MOUTH FULL, AS USUAL.]
"What on earth do you mean by that?" I replied.
He laughed offensively. "Do you know anything about sparrows?" he sneered.
I confessed I did not know much.
"I never knew any one write about them who did," he went on. "What was I saying when you interrupted me?"
"You said you were the odd egg," I replied. "What is an odd egg?"
"Do you know what a clutch is?" His intonation was insolence itself.
"A clutch," said I, "is, I believe, a sitting of eggs destined to be simultaneously hatched."
"Perhaps you may have noticed," said he, "that in our family"--his every feather bristled with importance, and the white bars on his wings were beautifully displayed--"we do not confine ourselves to a single monotonous pattern of egg."
"A string of variegated sparrows' eggs was one of my earliest treasures," said I.
"Well, then, if you know that much, and don't know what the odd egg is, you must be a fool," said he.
It is hard to be insulted by a sparrow, and, as it is, I have toned down the expression, but I preserved a meek silence.
"Any one," he went on, with bland condescension, "who has seen a few clutches of sparrows' eggs, and has not noticed that there is an odd egg in each clutch, must be an uncommonly poor observer."
"It is not in the books," I ventured to protest.
"Books!" he screamed, "books! What do the people who write books know about sparrows? And yet, do you know that there has been more ink spilt over sparrows than over any other bird? that laws innumerable have been passed concerning sparrows? that associations have been formed to exterminate sparrows? that--that--that----"
[Illustration: THERE IS AN ODD EGG IN EACH CLUTCH.]
The excitement was too much for him; he had been keeping time with his tail to this declamatory crescendo. With the last effort he cocked it a shade too high, lost his balance, and landed, considerably ruffled, some four feet beneath his own reserved and particular twig. His eye was on me, and I felt it too serious a matter for laughter. He made what was evidently intended for a dignified ascent, choosing, with minute exactness, the steps he had originally employed on my approach. It was a full minute before he broke the silence, and for that full minute I had to preserve my gravity.
[Illustration: IT WAS A FULL MINUTE BEFORE HE BROKE THE SILENCE.]
"Have you any clutches by you?" he said at last.
I had, and fetched them.
"Now," said he, "look at that one, four dark and one light; look at this, four light and one dark; and at this, six light mottled, and one among them with a few black spots."
I had to admit that it seemed true.
"True," said he, "of course it's true. Didn't I tell