“The flowers and plants are not like those of the valley,” said Tom. “The stream, too, is different. Here it is a noisy, rushing course of clear, lovely water. Down below it is a lazy-flowing stream.”
“It is not always so clear,” said Uncle George. “After heavy rains this stream is swollen and brown.”
“Look! look!” cried Dolly. “What is that on the other side of the stream?”
Sure enough there was something moving about. Now it turned round and opened its mouth, showing two rows of sharp, white teeth. Then, with a harsh cry that could be heard above the noise of the water, it bolted away.
There was just time for all to see the creature, which Tom at once called a weasel.
“Yes, a weasel it is,” said Uncle George; “it is one of the animals which prey on rabbits and young hares. Look! there it is again.”
The children looked, and saw it quite clearly. There it was, a pretty little animal of a black and brown colour, with just a little white on its breast. It sat up, and was holding something in its fore paws.
“Ah!” said Uncle George, “our little friend is a thief. He has found a nest, and that is an egg he has stolen from it. Let us see what he will do with it.”
The Weasel at Home.