The important event upon which Leatherwing had been in such haste to congratulate his friend, really took place in two days after the conversation just related. In other words, the joys and cares of our squirrels were increased by the presence of four young ones, as fine healthy little creatures as their hearts could desire. And I am sure that more attentive and affectionate parents than Brush and his companion could not be found, even among the human race. For many days they made a point of never leaving the nest at the same time, for fear their tender family should suffer for want of their parents’ warmth and protection. And though Brush was naturally such a playful rattling fellow, you might have observed some difference in his behaviour, since he became the father of four helpless children. I mean, that he spent less time in play, and seldom rambled to any great distance from the oak-tree. So for a week or two our squirrels passed their time very sedately and quietly, taking care of their children, and watching with great delight their rapid growth from day to day.

One evening, just before bed-time, Brush was peering out at the entrance of his hole, as he often did before he curled himself up for the night, perhaps that he might see what sort of weather it was likely to be the next day. Whatever his object might have been, he certainly was looking out of his hole on this particular evening; when, casting his eyes down the valley, he perceived a small dark speck dancing about in the air, and as it drew nearer, and became more distinct, he saw that it was his friend Leatherwing, coming to enjoy his favourite sport of gnat-catching, over the surface of the pond.

“I feel rather sleepy,” said Brush, “but I have not seen the old fellow for some time, and I must tell him what has happened since he was here last.”

So he ran out to the end of a branch, and when the bat came within hail he begged him to stop for a few minutes’ chat.

Now, though Leatherwing was very hungry, and his game was abundant, yet his love of a little gossip was so great, that it overcame his dislike to the feeling of an empty stomach, and he was just going to alight on the branch, by the side of his friend, when he suddenly called out in a voice of extreme terror, “Back, friend Brush! Run back to your hole directly! Back, you foolish fellow, or the cruel wild-cat will have you!”

Horrible! the monstrous wild-cat, the British tigress as she has been called, was in the tree indeed! She was crouching down on a neighbouring branch, between the squirrel and the nest, preparing herself for the fearful spring, by that peculiar wriggling motion of the hinder part of the body which you may often have observed in your favourite kitten, when she is just going to dart at the plaything you have kindly made for her amusement.

At first sight of the monster, the poor little squirrel was so terrified that he had no power to move, for her great savage eyes were fixed upon him, and sent forth a horrible greenish coloured light, which seemed to have the effect of preventing any attempt at escape. But he recovered himself at last, and it was well for him that he did so; for hardly, by means of a tremendous spring, had he reached a distant bough, when his fierce pursuer, who must have leaped at the same instant, alighted on the very spot he had just quitted. And now between these two animals, so unequally matched in strength and size, you might have seen a most exciting and hardly contested race; the squirrel doing his utmost to secure his safety, by reaching his hole, and the wild-cat following with terrible eagerness, in hopes of obtaining a most delicate and favourite morsel for her supper. Had they both started fairly, I think that the fierce beast would have had no chance of overtaking her prey; but, as I have mentioned, she was between the squirrel and his fortress when the chase began, so that he could not run at once to his only place of refuge.

Poor Brush! he was hardly pressed indeed, and several times, when he found his retreat to his hole cut off, he gave himself up for lost. He owed his safety at last, not to his wonderful agility alone, but also to his lightness, which enabled him to pass over the smaller branches that would have bent or broken with the weight of his enemy. To keep you no longer in suspense, you must know, then, that the poor breathless terrified squirrel reached his hole at last, and no sooner was he safe within it, than an immense paw, furnished with terribly sharp, hooked claws, was thrust in as far as it could reach, and Brush could see the light of those horrid, yellow-green eyes, gleaming in upon him through the narrow opening. He even fancied he could smell her hot tainted breath, as she growled with rage and disappointment.

“Baulked, Mrs. Wild-cat! Exactly three seconds too late, Mrs. Tabby! Yes, Madam, if you had reached the hole only three seconds earlier, you would have made a very nice supper of poor Brush, and his nest would that night have contained a sorrowful widow and four fatherless children. A little too late, I am happy to say, Mrs. Tabby! Only a very little too late, but ‘a miss is as good as a mile,’ as people say. What! you are in a terrible rage now, are you? And you will growl, and spit, and try to thrust your great ugly head into a hole only just large enough for the slender body of Brush to pass easily through it. There! you may do your worst, and when you have tired yourself, you may go and look for a supper elsewhere, only I cannot possibly wish that good luck may attend upon your hunting. One thing I squirrels wish though, that Harvey was under the tree just now with his gun. Well, never mind! Your time will come, I dare say.”

Yes, the squirrel had escaped from his terrible enemy for that time. He and his family were safe as long as they remained in their castle, and they had still sufficient food in their hoard to stand a pretty long siege, though I cannot tell what they would have done for want of water. But then how miserable it would be, to be kept close prisoners for days, or even weeks; for how could they ever be certain that their enemy was not still in the neighbourhood, or perhaps lying in wait for them behind some branch of their own oak-tree? Truly a very pitiable situation indeed!

It is wonderful how we become accustomed to dangers of all kinds, and yet those who have often risked their lives in battle will tell you, that this is really the case. In his first trial the young soldier will perhaps be so terribly frightened that nothing but the certainty of being disgraced prevents his running away. But after some years spent amid dangers, the coward becomes by degrees a bold fellow, who can hear bullets whistle around him, and see bright steel flash before his eyes, if not with indifference, at least, with perfect coolness and steadiness.

But what has all this about soldiers to do with the poor prisoners in the oak tree? There does not appear to be much connexion between the two subjects, certainly; but I was going to say that our squirrels resembled soldiers in one respect. I mean, that they became rather more courageous by being accustomed to live in continual danger. For the first day or two after the chase, they were afraid to venture more than a few yards from the nest; but they rambled further by degrees, though, whenever they returned to the oak, they took care to stop in a tree at a little distance, that they might see if the enemy was not lying in ambush for them near the hole. In this manner many days passed, and they were beginning to hope that the wild-cat had quite left the neighbourhood, when they had a conversation with Leatherwing about this dreadful animal.

It was really surprising what a vast deal of information this funny little fellow had picked up; but, perhaps, as he said himself, his having lived so much in towns and villages, where he could overhear the conversation of Man, might partly account for his cleverness.

From him the squirrels learned that these terrible wild-cats were formerly very common in the neighbouring forests, but that for many years they had been gradually diminishing in numbers, and it was now almost certain that the fierce beast which had caused them so much alarm, was the last of her race in that part of the country. Wild-cats are always much larger than the tame animals, but this creature was one of the largest that had ever been seen or heard of. She was really a formidable beast, and since she had taken up her abode in the neighbourhood, she had done a great deal of mischief to the farmers by killing their poultry, and even their young lambs. She had often been chased by the gamekeepers and others, but long experience had made her so watchful and cunning, that she had always escaped with her life, though she had sometimes smarted a little from a few shot penetrating her skin. But her fur was so thick and close that small shot could not injure her much, unless fired from a very short distance, and she took care that her enemies should not approach too near.

Such dreadful tales did Leatherwing relate of the extraordinary cunning and fierceness of this hideous animal! When he had finished, the squirrels became so terrified that they ran and hid themselves in their snug retreat, declaring to each other that they never should be happy till they were sure that the monster had been killed. They were particularly uneasy too about their young ones, who were now grown so strong that they were able to leave the nest; but their parents never allowed them to go out of their sight, or to ramble beyond the branches of the oak.

One day Brush said to his partner, “Well, this is miserable work! I declare I have no peace night or day, but am always thinking or dreaming about this horrid wild-cat; I almost wish I had never been born, or at least, that I had been a water-rat, or, better still, that curious fellow called a mole, that Leatherwing talked to me about once.”

“And where does this mole live?” said Mrs. Brush.

“Why, he spends almost all his life under the ground, and though it must be very dark and damp there, he is at least safe from being eaten up by wild beasts. He makes famous long caverns, branching out from each other and in one place he has a very comfortable nest, lined with dry grass and leaves, and among the roots of some tree he makes what Leatherwing called his fortress, because he always goes there when he is frightened. And all these nice places are safe under the ground. Oh! I really wish I was a mole! The wild-cat might come as soon as she pleased, then.”

“I think she would scratch the earth up with her great claws, and pull you out of your fortress, as you call it.”

“How could she? Why there are I don’t know how many caverns, all leading from the fortress, and I could easily escape by one or other of them. Then I could dig through the earth a great deal faster than she could, if I were a mole; for Leatherwing says, that his fore-feet are amazingly large and strong. Oh! ten times stronger than mine! Then he never goes to sleep much more in the winter than in the summer, for when the ground is frozen hard, all he has to do is to dig down a little deeper, till he finds the earth soft; so he never cares what sort of weather it is, and he has no need to trouble himself about laying up a store of provisions for the winter. Oh! it must be very nice to be a mole!”

“I should be afraid that my eyes would be filled with dust and dirt, when I was digging under the ground.”

“Your great staring eyes would, I dare say, but the mole’s are very different. They are so small, and covered over with fur, that he is sometimes thought to be quite blind. For, as Leatherwing says, people are so stupid and ignorant! But I believe the mole’s little eyes are not often of much use to him, for he seldom comes out of his caverns, and when he does it is at night. I think he would be much wiser to keep always under ground, and then he would be quite safe. I asked old Leatherwing how the mole could find out his food, as he always lives in the dark, and he said that his nose is more useful to him than his eyes, for he can smell anything at a great distance.”

“And what can he find to eat under ground, I should like to know?”

“Horrible! I forgot all about that when I wished to be a mole. His food, I can hardly bear even to talk about it! He lives almost entirely on worms! Horrid, long, twining worms! Oh! I had rather be hunted by the wild-cat every day, than eat such disgusting food as that. No, no, I don’t wish to change places with the mole now, I am sure.”

So as Brush had neither the inclination nor the power to be transformed into a worm-devourer, he was obliged to be content with his situation as a nut-cracker.