The next few weeks were a delightful holiday for Phil. Day after day he roamed the woods with the gentle Beavers, making friends with the Bees and Squirrels, and finding out their haunts. Sometimes he caught brief glimpses of other creatures, who glanced at him shyly and scampered off. He learnt to keep a sharp look out for the dreaded Wolverene, and was so curious to see him that he almost hoped that he might come. Nature had promised that nothing should harm him, and he would protect the Beavers. Father Beaver devoted many hours to his young visitor. He told him much about woodcraft, and how Nature protected some of her weakest creatures against their foes by giving them the shape and colour of their surroundings. The little brown twig on the bough before them, he pointed out, was in reality a Caterpillar which Birds would have devoured long since if he had attracted their attention. The small dead leaf among the vines was a gorgeous Butterfly when he unfolded his wings, the under sides of which were a dingy brown. "You will find this wherever you go," said Father Beaver, "Nature always protects her own." "How does she protect you and me?" Phil asked him curiously, only half understanding. "By giving us our wits," said the Beaver simply. "If you don't use them it is not her fault. When you grow up strong, and wise, and fearless, you will be able to protect others as well as yourself. As for us, it was she who first taught us how to build. But for her we should be at the mercy of the Wolverene all through the winter, when he is fierce with hunger, and very strong. There is the Wild Cat, too. Sometimes we hear her tearing at our roof, and snarling with rage. It is a horrible sound to listen to on a still dark night." "Why didn't you stay in England? There are no Wild Cats or Wolverenes in the woods at home--only Birds and Rabbits, and harmless creatures such as those." Father Beaver gnawed a strip of bark from a young birch tree before he answered. "The Wolverene is not our worst enemy," he said slowly. "Beavers were driven from your shores by Man. Yes--" as Phil gave a little start of surprise--"we used to build in many of your streams and rivers; in Wales we were well known, and I have heard that in the time of Hoel-dda, the great Welsh lawgiver, one hundred and twenty pence--then a very large sum--was offered for each Beaver's skin. You see we were much thought of even in those days, though I must say I wish it had been for something else than for our fur. We are still to be found along some of the large rivers of Europe, such as the Rhone and Danube, and in many lakes; but the Rhone Beavers are solitary animals and do not build houses, dwelling instead in burrows, which go far down into the earth." "Do those hunters you spoke of often come after you, Father Beaver?"