Few know him and the careless eye may never see him. He is so small,—that four of him just stop a mouse-hole; so light,—that ten of him just tilt an ounce. Yet, if you search the files, you find him eminent. The Pygmy Shrew in Cornwall! The Pygmy Shrew in Kent!! The Pygmy Shrew in Rutlandshire!!!
Thus fame is garlanded round mystery.
Man's kingdom is brick-built and parchment guarded. The beasties have a nobler heritage. Fence your broad acres as you please, yet they shall quietly share them, paying you naught, and taking what they will. Water and air and land are theirs by prior, nay primeval, right. So shall you bend before their quality, and, for their lineage, you shall respect them.
Something had brushed across the Pygmy's nose. He shook off three days' sleep in three half-seconds. Where was his tail? Sleeping, he swings it up across his face, and gathers all four feet within its shelter. His tail was there, but in its waking-place, behind him. Then something must have moved it. He stretched his neck and sniffed, long wheezy sniffs which ended in a shiver; then he peered down the shaft. He jerked back to avoid an avalanche—a blinding dust-cloud, a rattle of small stones, and, in the midst, two common shrews close locked.
But I go on too fast.
The stump is close against the rookery-fence. It is a stump of quality, a residential stump, a maze of winding roots and secret chambers, wherein field-folk may live without acquaintance. There is a fellow to it in the meadow, another fronts the rabbit mound, and all three hold like tenants.
The woodmouse first, round-eyed and debonair; then the bank-vole, he who is half a mouse, with chestnut coat, broad ear and estimable tail; lastly the ranny-noses; the common shrew—a velvet-coated pepper-tempered gallant; the Pygmy, who is common shrew refined—purple and orange ripple in his fur, and him my Lady Sunshine loves the best of all.
The Woodmouse First, Round-eyed and Debonair