She turned back, slowly retracing her steps to the edge of the wood where stood the rows of brush piles. Here she began to hunt for a temporary hiding place. The brush piles had not been there long enough to have settled into tight, safe retreats; but one of them had a base of logs under which the wood pussy found a narrow hole. Into this she pushed her way only to be startled by the sudden scampering of some animal which had already made this a home.
It was Bun, the woods rabbit. He was big, but his teeth and mouth were shaped for gnawing soft grass and bark, not fighting, so he made way very quickly for the skunk and waited outside until she should leave. But this she did not do, so after a while he grew impatient and peeped inside only to find her curled up in his bed of leaves fast asleep.
Bun angrily thumped his hind feet against the earth and complained a bit to himself, but finally had to go away and find another bed. He knew of several, for he was used to this kind of treatment on the part of the powerful meat eaters and was always ready for a quick change, inconvenient though it sometimes seemed.
Through the day, while the sun shone warmly on the wood pile and the little birds hopped about it, there was no sign of the weary wood pussy. Once she looked out to see whether it was safe yet to make the trip back to the woodchuck’s burrow, but finding the sun high overhead returned to Bun’s nest. Several times she moved uneasily and pulled more leaves about her for bedding. But she did not leave the woodpile that day nor the night following, and when in the morning the birds awoke with the dawn and chirruped among the twigs, there were five wood pussies instead of one, in Bun’s old nest, four of them hairless, blind babies only a few hours old, over whom the old wood pussy was already keeping faithful, tireless guard.
CHAPTER II
STRONG MEDICINE
And so it happened that Farmer Ben Slown had a family of skunks as neighbors. Some people might have been happy about it, but not he. It was well for the family that they were hidden under the wood pile so securely that he did not even suspect they were there; for Farmer Slown had never learned to live on friendly terms with the little woodsfolk.
He shot the crows and blackbirds because he thought they spent most of their time eating his crops. He set traps for the rabbits and the woodchucks because they nibbled his vegetables. The squirrels, in his opinion, lived only to carry away his corn, and the foxes, skunks, hawks and other meat eaters were supposed to be always on the lookout for his chickens. Altogether he made himself have a hard time with his wild neighbors.
He had moved into the woods and started his present farm because he wished to be far away from every human being, in a place where he could do pretty much what he pleased with everything he saw. But even Farmer Slown could not regulate the actions of the wild furry folk, nor know how many pairs of bright little eyes watched the lights of his house at night from field and thicket and high tree top.
No roads led into the big woods, but the farmer had a flat bottomed boat in which he could pole up and down Goose Creek. Then, too, there was the woods path along the stream, worn smooth by deer and by countless little padded feet. So Ben Slown was able to reach the village when he wanted to, which was not often.
