THE LITTLE PEOPLE

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19750, 17 March 1934, Page 13

THE LITTLE PEOPLE

' Through the poplar plantation, where the dusk was deepest, Spike, the little grey hedgehop, went chittering and grumbling to himself, and, by the tone of his monologue you might have guessed that he was annoyed, not to gay put out.

And you would have guessed right Spike was vexed—very vexed, for, down the road, Nip, the Fox Terrier from the farm, had overtaken him, and shaken him so severely, in spite of the fact that he’d been rolled up ever so tightly, that he’d nearly come undone. Fortunately for Spike, Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Shadow, the big tan buck hare, had come by, and Nip had left the spiny bundle to give chase, through the gorse and manuka scrub, down to the wide, grey, shingly river bed. So Spike went grumbling through the poplar plantation, where there were many tit-bits when the west wind blew —untidy sparrows nests, continlng broken eggs; the eggs of finch and thrush, and here and there a little dead nestling.

When there was no wind to blow the nests down, he scratched and rooted among the dead rank leaves, and fed Juicily on the fat slugs and earthworms that dwelt in the cool, damp mould.

Beyond the poplar plantation lay the swamp that fringed the lagoon, and Spike knew of two pukekoes nests; and where a pair of wild duck were building.

There had been no wind, so, aftergorging on slugs and worms for a while, Spike decided to go on down to that swamp, and see if the wild duck had laid.

On the outskirts of the plantation he paused for a while; and saw, by the light of the great, cold, new-risen moon, Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Shadow nibbling the bark of a young tree. Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Shadow had left Nip far behind, down at the creek, but his ridiculous ears still twitched nervously, and his big, silly eyes popped, so that when Spike gave a shrill, sardonic chuckle, the great buck hare leaped four feet into the air and fled, with his absurd ears flopping, towards the bright, yellow disc of the moon. Spike chittered scornfully, and went on his way through the rush and toitoi grass, towards the wild duck’s nest. As he neared his goal he ceased his chittering, and went stealthily, for he had no wish to apprise other wanderers of his find.

Half a yard from the nest Spike caught a whiff of a scent that made him snap clean over into a tight bristling ball. Slink, the Weasel—the Evil One, had forestalled him.

Some minutes later Spike, weary of Inaction, unrolled himself, and crept cautiously, one foot—two feet ..... Something hurled itself out of the night and landed on him—bounced off again, spitting and snarling; and ahead the night was split suddenly with hideous sounds—yells and shrieks of a fighting wild cat at grips with death —with Slink, the Evil One. For a time Spike lay huddled in a tight ball, with his eyes shut, listening with all his ears. Slink, after the manner of his kind, fought silently, but Tawny, the Swift One, raised bedlam, so that one would have thought that she was being murdered slowly and horribly, instead of being, as she was, an irresistible marvellously controlled mass of teeth and claws.

Presently a shadow passed between Spike and the moon, and the hedgehog knew that Whoopee, the Morepork, was on the look out for plunder. He swooped once, twice, three times; then perched on a stunted willow bough, beside the lagoon, and waited. The Swift One, catawalling horribly, leaped this way and that, in and out, slashing and ripping, and Slink writhed and twisted, snapping ferociously, with his beautiful, wicked wlfite fangs bared in the moonlight, and his little, evil eyes narrowed to venemous slits of hate.

AN ANIMAL STORY

By E. Mary Gurney.

(Copyright.)

Tawny leaped two ways at once—landed on Slink's back, ripping him from nape to tail before he could twist beneath her, and sink his poisonous fangs into her sinuewy throat. Bedlam broke loose in earnest. Tawny ripped and slashed and yelled. Slink

held on grimly—ripped and slashed back; but the Evil One had come to grips at last with the one beast that was a match for him, and in the end he was forced to relinquish his grip, and make a bolt for it, with the victorious cat riding him—ripping and clawing and biting—yelling and yodelling her triumph to the grinning moon.

Luckily for Slink the lagoon was a bare yard away, and he rolled and writhed down the bank and into the stagnant, filthy water, leaving the disappointed cat screeching on the bank. Presently the Swift One’s rage subsided to a throaty grumble, and she went her way, limping slightly, dripping blood from her torn throat, but moving splendidly. Whoopee swooped from the willow bough, circled once or twice, and then swept silently away. Spike uncoiled and went gingerly to

the trampled nest, but there remained not so much as a fragment of shell. He chittered crossly, and Slink, shivering in the- weeds that fringed the lagoon, heard him, and knew that the coast was clear. ,So he swam ashore, sore and wicked, and went writhing towards the sound, with his teeth bared savagely.

Just in time Spike heard him and rolled over, chittering with scared anger and Slink backed off, snarling and hissing with baffled rage. For a while he waited, nursing his wounds and his baffled fury. Spike lay and cursed him, silently, but with the passion of hate that is engendered by fear. Presently, realising that the little hedgehog could lie comfortably all night and all day, Slink slid silently out of sight into the rushes, and Spike unrolled and went as fast as his short legs would carry him, in the opposite direction.

On the other side of the plantation he saw Little White Scut, the baby rabbit, playing on the white road, skipping from shadow to gaunt shadow, fitting through the moonlight with his little white scut bobbing. Grumbling, Spike dug in the moss beside a poplar trunk—turned up a fat slug—sniffed—paused—sniffed again —chittered in his sudden, frightened rage, to Little White Scut, skipping in the road—“ Beware! Beware!”—and rolled himself up again into his tight ball.

Little White Scut heard him—heard the puekoes on the river bank screech, and fled swiftly, blindly, running in ever-widening circles, until, blown and scared stiff, he reached his home burrow, where he waited, palpitating, until the morning. It was dusk again, and Spike was examining a sparrow’s nest, blown down by the west wind, when Little White Scut went by in long terrified bounds, with his ears flopping helplessly, and his sad little brown eyes glazed and hopeless, and hot on his trail ran Slink, the Evil One. Spike, wrapped into a hasty ball, did not see the end, in the far field, beyond the still lagoon. Through the dusk he heard the thin, high death scream of the little grey rabbit; but he did not see the great brown hawk, Big Wings, come swooping out of the heights, drop like a •>*> »> *> *:♦ *> *i* ♦> *> ♦> *> ♦> *:« *> *> ♦:» *> *>