So the little ones grew and played in the sunshine,
and had yet to learn what fear meant.
One day at dusk the mother entered swiftly and, without giving them food
as she had always done, seized a cub and disappeared. For the little
one, which had never before ventured beyond sight of the den, it was a
long journey indeed that followed,--miles and miles beside roaring
brooks and mist-filled ravines, through gloomy woods where no light
entered, and over bare ridges where the big stars sparkled just over his
ears as he hung, limp as a rabbit skin, from his mother's great jaws. An
owl hooted dismally, _whoo-hooo!_ and though he knew the sound well in
his peaceful nights, it brought now a certain shiver. The wind went
sniffing suspiciously among the spruce branches; a startled bird chirped
and whirred away out of their path; the brook roared among the rocks; a
big salmon jumped and tumbled back with resounding splash, and jumped
again as if the otter were after him. There was a sudden sharp cry, the
first and last voice of a hare when the weasel rises up in front of him;
then silence, and the fitful rustle of his mother's pads moving
steadily, swiftly over dry leaves.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57