However, it must be done somehow; there is not the slightest doubt that he is to be carried up! So she opens her mouth wide and puts her jaws round his neck. Then, disregarding his lively protests, she cautiously closes her mouth.
He becomes suddenly quite quiet. She needs all her presence of mind to judge how tightly she may grip him without making it his last journey.
He hangs there in his mother’s jaws and closes his earth-clogged eyes, clutching her body tightly with his little legs. But he surrenders himself to her without complaint and without movement, bearing the pain in blind faith in her omnipotence.
In two jumps she reaches the top, slides down into the bole, and a moment later deposits him carefully on the ground among the others. A healing warmth envelops him—and, as the kittens are already satisfied, he secures an unusually large share of milk.
THE FLIGHT FROM THE WILLOW
Truly that morning the kittens had trembled in the shadow of death!
And Grey Puss always regarded the he-cat as the first betrayer, the cause of all her subsequent sorrows and misfortunes.
Only a week later a farm hand saw her as she sneaked into the willow. Putting his ear against the trunk, he heard the kittens stirring, and so, hanging his hat and coat on a branch, he ran home to the farm to fetch the dog....
Box was not to be found; and not till the midday meal did he get hold of him—and when at last the fellow returned to stamp out the “vermin,” the trunk was deserted and empty.
He explored the neighbouring fields. The dog found the scent at once and gave tongue—then deep among the corn was fought a terrific battle. The dog’s barks turned to howls, and soon afterwards Box returned as if shot from a cannon, with his tail-stump curled between his legs.