At sunset, as Grimalkin prowled through the fields at the back of the church (for he avoided the woods while that mysterious bright power hunted there) he saw Zoe, again carrying a singed kitten. In the hour of danger old ties had reasserted themselves. She was going back to man, for with all his ignorance he had treated her better than the wild had done, and already four of the kittens lay in the Rectory hayloft.
She put up her back when she saw Grimalkin, but he made no attempt to stop her, and only trotted behind with a puzzled air. They came to the gate of the Rectory yard, and Zoe crawled underneath; but Grimalkin heard the scorched woods calling to him, and he could not follow, for he hated the abodes of men. 'Meaow!' he cried, but Zoe took no notice. At that moment a girl came into the yard, and stopped short in surprise: 'Why, Zoe, my pet!' she cried joyfully. Zoe, trained in caution by weeks of woodland life, climbed into the hayloft. The girl knew better than to follow her there, but presently she came back bearing a saucer of milk for the parched throat, and laid it down outside. Grimalkin turned and crept away.
That night the drought broke, and a thunderstorm burst over Knockdane. The rain poured in torrents and doused out the fire completely. But for many months there was a wide black clearing where the 'Jungle' had been; and a charred log in the middle was all that was left of Zoe's nursery.
CHAPTER V
WHERE THE BATTLE IS TO THE STRONG
In March the nights are long and winds are cold; food is scarce, yet hunters must live.
Grimalkin passed down the palings at the woodside, and stole on noiseless feet among the grass-tufts under the stormy dawn.
