Big knows the river well; he knows, too, that not even his jump can clear it. He therefore makes for the wooden bridge.
The main road crosses the bridge....
When the cat is half-way over, he feels the woodwork vibrate in a curious manner beneath his feet; he sees a spitting, humming, machine-animal whizzing towards him....
Just behind him is the dog, barking excitedly....
For a moment Big-cat hesitates; then, seeing no alternative, leaps bravely between the iron railings and falls with a splash into the river.
He sinks like a stone through the water, but the moment it closes over his head he commences kicking instinctively with his legs. At last he gets air again; he sees the sky above him. He swims mechanically—but believes that he is running through the water....
The motor-cycle rushed on over the bridge—the dog crossed its path; a howl, a crash, oaths and curses....
Meanwhile a dripping, bedraggled cat galloped away across the fields. He shook himself, and ran, and then shook himself again.... He has managed to come out on top as usual!
He kept on at full speed until he reached the boundaries of a large, private wood some distance away, by which time his fur was quite dry from his exertions. After several vain attempts he succeeded in scaling the tall, wooden palisade surrounding the wood, and, plunging in among the trees, soon came to a tumble-down game-keeper’s hut, in the loft of which he remained in comfort for a week.
From here he made excursions in all directions; but the old willow stump and the long, winding hawthorn hedge were no longer in sight to remind him to return, and with the disappearance of these and other landmarks the threads that bound him to his home snapped for ever.