I am now testing their liking for various plants, and after a time I may be able to make a list of the weeds they consume which may possibly be a set-off to the damage they do in other directions.
Voles have an acute sense of smell, as I learn in this way. The little pair may be sound asleep in their bed of moss and wool, but I no sooner place an earthy root of groundsel or chickweed in their glass case than I see an inquisitive nose at the entrance of the dormitory sniffing the air, and in another minute out comes mousie to enjoy the feast of fresh greenery.
The winter passed by uneventfully, until on the morning of January 26th I heard quite loud growls and squeaks proceeding from the voles' residence.
The cotton-wool quivered and was upheaved by unseen forces. Something serious must evidently be going on, so I cautiously interfered.
In lifting the woollen mass I disturbed four little sprawling infants of a bright pink colour and no particular shape! They were, of course, speedily replaced, and I could well understand the state of affairs.
THE VOLE'S RETREAT.
The father mouse must be removed somehow as he was evidently in the way and quite upsetting the nursery arrangements, but how I was to tell which was which was a real puzzle.
I thought I would try to learn a lesson from the wise king of old and see whether maternal love would not prove a sure test. I thought I would allow the vole that first returned to the nest to remain and place the other in a separate globe.
The plan was successful, for the mother mouse went back to the nest at once and set to work to repair the dwelling which I had somewhat disarranged.