The Fox Cub stared round-eyed towards the bracken. It certainly was moving--moving in waves which spent themselves abruptly, moving in spins and eddies. Now and again great swathes of it sank downward. The Fox Cub froze to stone. His muzzle hardened; his ears drooped flat; only his tail (his brush was yet to come) twitched half in interest, half in apprehension. The bracken started midway down the slope, in straggling, wayward patches. These quickly joined in an unbroken mass, and, on the level ground, gained full luxuriance. A cart-track twisted through them, half of it clear to eyes above, half intercepted. Beyond, the ground crept up once more--bracken gave place to bramble, bramble to coppice, coppice to the sky. The Fox Cub's eyes missed nothing. Movement above he saw--the brown owl changing station. Movement upon mid-slope--the dormouse in the brambles. Movement upon the cart-track--the shrewmouse worrying snails. But these were mere diversions--their interest passed. The bracken furnished a besetting problem--movement inexplicable, sound inexplicable--long-drawn, wheezy breathings, snorts of exertion, sighs of content. There was scent also, heavy musted scent, which came in whiffs and dangled at his nose. But for this scent he must have smelt the Stoat. The Stoat came dancing up the wind, passed by to right of him, and swung about. He held himself with an air, his body arched, one broad white pad uplifted, his tail curved decorously. From where he lay, the Fox Cub took his measure, then slowly reared himself and yawned. He, too, had teeth to show. The Stoat's black tail twitched side to side. He met the challenge squarely. The Fox Cub sank full length again. The Stoat tiptoed towards him, and, stretching full-neck forward, nibbled at his fur. So was their peace established. "Badger," whispered the Stoat, and danced from point to point excitedly, "Badger, grub-grub-grubbing." [Illustration: HE SANK FROM HIS HINDQUARTERS FORWARD SLOWLY, GROUNDED HIS NOSE BETWEEN HIS PAWS AND STARED] A stunted patch of bracken burst apart, and from its cover lurched a broad grey back. "He scents you," said the Stoat. The Fox Cub still lay motionless. It was the broadest back he yet had seen. "Should one run?" he whispered. This spelt sheer ignorance of the woods. "Run?" said the Stoat. "Whoever ran from Badger but a rabbit? Badger is all benevolence. Badger is King. We run towards him." "Who are _We_?" said the Fox Cub. "_We?_" said the Stoat. "Why, Marten, Polecat, Stoat, and Weasel. Flesh-eaters All. All of one Brotherhood. Beasties Courageous. Squirrel is living up to us--he does his best with eggs." [Illustration] "_Squirrel is living up to us?_" It was a cough and splutter from above and Stoat and Cub peered upwards. Squirrel sat twenty feet away, and stamped with indignation. "Squirrel is living up to us? My plumed tail! you wait till Squirrel grows." [Illustration: THE STOAT TIPTOED TOWARDS HIM]