‘Ha! ye poaching rascal!’ came a voice from beneath.
Curiosity could be restrained no longer, and, lifting the moss a little, I poked my nose through. I could have barked for sheer joy, for there was the tall, ginger-whiskered keeper in the very act of picking up a blood-stained grey form which lay limp and lifeless on the dead leaves at the foot of the tree. The grey terror was no more!
Nothing worth chronicling happened during the rest of that winter. Early March, I remember, was cold out of the common, so we did not emerge from our winter home until later than usual. At last the frost departed, and one morning I woke up, and, instead of waiting as usual for Rusty, sallied out alone. It was exquisitely bright and sunny, with a soft feeling in the air. A gentle westerly breeze stirred the twigs, all red at the tips with new buds, and drove across the blue sky soft rolls of light, smoky cloud. Tiny spikes of green were pushing out through the withered tufts of last year’s grass, and the birds were singing as I had never heard them sing before.
As I ran along the lowest branch of the beech, whom should I meet quite suddenly but Cob’s sister, little Sable. She looked at me in her pretty shy way, murmuring a gentle ‘Good morning,’ and it suddenly occurred to me how extremely pretty she was. I wondered vaguely why I had never before noticed the dainty grace of her shape, the softness of her coat, and the jewel-like brilliancy of her eyes. We sat still, gazing at one another for quite a minute; and then suddenly, with a roguish flick of her brush, she bounded past me and away to another branch, where she stopped short and looked back over her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. After her I dashed in full pursuit, but she was gone again before I could reach her.
In those days I rather fancied myself at running and jumping, but I don’t mind saying that I never had a harder chase to catch any squirrel in my life. She was so extraordinarily quick at dodging and turning that we were both quite out of breath when at last I came up with her.
That was the beginning of my courting of my dear wife, but I can tell you that I had no easy task before me. She was the most coquettish little thing, and just when I was beginning to whisper tender speeches in her pretty pointed ears, off she would go with a flick and a spring, and lead me such a dance that I would angrily declare to myself that she did not care a bit for me. You see, I was very young in those days, and not learned in the ways of the fair sex. At other times she would hide herself in some cleft or knot-hole, and leave me to search for her by the hour; then, when at last I found her, she would say with an air of the greatest surprise:
‘Were you looking for me, Scud? Oh, I didn’t know. What a pity!’
There was worse to follow. One fine morning, some days later, Sable actually consented to come and play down on the grass. We were enjoying a fine game when, all of a sudden, a strange squirrel, one I had hardly seen before—he came from a family who lived quite at the other end of the coppice—appeared on the scene, and, running up to my lady as coolly as you please—