"Cured like ham, was it?" inquired Humphrey.
"Yea," responded Hugo.
Humphrey nodded his head approvingly. "A priest," he said, "for knowing and having good eating."
The two sat silent a few moments waiting for Fleetfoot, who did not come, and then Humphrey continued: "The badger hath a thick skin. He goeth into a wasp's nest or a bees' nest, and the whole swarm may sting him and he feeleth it not."
"What doth the badger in wasps' nests and bees' nests?" inquired Hugo.
"Why, he will eat up their grubs. The eggs make footless grubs, and these the badger eateth. My grandsire went a journey through this wood once on a moonlight night. He rode slowly along, and at a certain place was a bees' nest beside the path, and there, full in the moonlight, was a badger rooting out the nest. Out swarmed the bees, and several did sting the horse of my grandsire at the moment when he had taken good aim at the badger with his stick. The horse bolted, and my grandsire found himself lying in the path with his neck all but broken, and the bees taking vengeance on him for the trespass of the badger. He hath had no liking to bees or badgers since that day."
"He still liveth, then?" asked Hugo.
"Ay," returned Humphrey, much pleased at the question. "Hale and hearty he is, and ninety-six years of age."
By common consent both now paused to listen for Fleetfoot. Hearing nothing Humphrey continued, "Didst ever see a tame badger?"
"Nay," was the reply.