Thick-set and sturdy, with short tail, strong legs, and a back which
merged smoothly into a plump, round stomach; big, attentive eyes with
intelligence and intensity in their glance; small ears never at rest;
this was Big!
He was the born master-hunter of the litter, and spent nearly all his
time lying in wait on his belly, his tail stretched out behind him. He
captured in a flash every bit of fluff carried past by the wind; he
pursued passionately every butterfly and bird that came near him. When
one of his brothers or sisters got up and walked away, Big-kitten would
look up with a start and steal cautiously in the wake of the “meat.”...
He was always the one to start a new game ... and he commenced every
game of “tag” with a leap right over his playfellow; a deliberate
insult which emphasized his opponent’s inferiority.
Although Big was still only a little half-grown fellow, his paws itched
with the lust of the chase, and in his mind smouldered a constant
desire for adventure. During the noonday hour of rest he would push out
recklessly from the island-fortress, and, when the weather was dry and
warm, creep far away out along the hedge and ditch bordering the corn.
Inbred in him was the ability to make use of every scrap of cover
offered by Mother Nature, whether a tiny depression in the ground, or a
tuft of grass, behind which he would hide and listen patiently before
proceeding on his way. With doubled-up legs and body dragging along the
ground he could creep for half-hours at a time, hiding in a bush or
copse when he wished to rest or stretch his muscles.
His movements were so light and deft that he barely disturbed the
grass--no shaking flower or trembling stalk ever betrayed _his_
passage!
One day he went farther than usual along the ditch.... He had found a
splendid hunting-ground! Flies and swallows swept over him in crowds.
Now he _must_ do something big!
He exerted all his powers to the uttermost: lifted his feet high to
avoid scraping and rustling, crawled up at frequent intervals on stones
to look around, and often sat still listening with his head stretched
high above the grass. His ears were instantly directed towards every
sound, while simultaneously he crouched ready to spring....
His efforts were crowned with success; he came upon a weird, earth-like
little animal which sat digging at a hole. He should have sprung upon
it at once, but he hesitated. Then the earthy one started up and ran
off, disappearing with a final hop into an adjacent bush.
In the bush sat a young starling with broken wing, enjoying the view,
and under the impression that it had reached safety at last.
Not many days before it had slipped out of its nest; the down of
childhood still lingered on its body. What a long, long time it had
already lived, thought the little fellow!
How it had wonderingly stared out of the nest, peeping through the
branches after its mother as she flew away in search of food!...
With what a shiver of dread it had, one fine morning for the first time
in its life, set foot upon the ground!... There was something about
the ground which frightened it dreadfully; true, the earth could not
run and jump, but nevertheless the little bird didn’t feel at all safe
there. It longed to go aloft--aloft and flying!
The first minor difficulties were soon overcome. It learnt to glide
through the air from branch to branch. Then suddenly it found itself
really flying, able to turn and twist and sweep round in curves, to
swerve upwards in spirals and suddenly turn and corkscrew down again.
It had become master of its destiny--the world was big and the earth
beautiful, for real _life_ had begun.
Then one day it had flown into the farmer’s kitchen garden, which
twinkled with flowers glowed with fruit; red and tempting they lay
upon the ground, for it was strawberry season. There came a shot!
Something queer happened: all at once, after a loud noise, it found
itself unable to rise and fly aloft; it could only hop clumsily in the
air.
It ran and ran, tearing away in the direction of the long-drawn whistle
of terror which the other birds uttered as they flew away. Now it sat
quite still under the bush, awaiting the inevitable doom which comes to
every crippled bird.
For days it had hopped about, getting farther and farther out into the
field....
Big-kitten made very short work of it; his victim sat waiting as if put
there for him by the Creator. To capture it was child’s play.
Thus did the world with its colours and sounds vanish from the
consciousness of the little brown starling.... Sharp teeth buried
themselves in its neck and greedy lips sucked its blood.