Suddenly a peal of distant bells came clanging through the moist, calm air with such a vibrating note that they made us all start. Father sat up sharply, and mother asked him what was the matter. He explained to us that he had learnt by experience that when those bells rang out it was a dangerous time for us, for all the mischievous boys and rough fellows in the neighbourhood seemed to appear in the woods, and the keeper was never seen. He did not know why this should be, but from long custom he had grown to be uneasy at the sound. Mother shuddered sympathetically, and rubbed against him caressingly, with a movement that told him not to worry, and she reminded him consolingly that even if our tormentors did take it into their heads to come into the wood they would not be likely to find us, since we had moved. But father, instead of responding, suddenly pricked up his ears, and, signalling to us to be quiet, listened eagerly to some sound which the rest of us had not yet caught. For a moment he sat up straight, as still as though stuffed; then he turned and spoke sharply, with a warning sound that told us to lie as still as mice, for some danger was approaching. Sure enough, a minute later we all heard the warning cry of a frightened blackbird, and immediately afterwards the brushing and trampling of a number of heavy boots through the wet grass and fern in the distance. At once we all stretched ourselves out tight as bark along the flat bough which formed the foundation of our nest, and lay there still as so many sleeping dormice. The steps came rapidly nearer, and soon voices sounded plainly through the hush of the quiet wood. Imagine how I shuddered when I recognized the coarse tones of our former enemies mixed with others equally harsh and unpleasant! They were making straight for our part of the wood. Shaking though I was in every limb, curiosity drove me to peep cautiously over the edge of the bough. The mist was all gone now, and there, below the tall larch-tree which had been our old home and the scene of our recent narrow escape, stood four young louts, our old enemies and two others about the same size and age, all craning their necks and staring upwards through the thick, pale-green branches. Each was carrying in his right hand a short, flexible stick with a heavy head. These were not long enough for walking-sticks, such as Crump, the keeper, and other humans who sometimes came through the wood carried; and, in spite of my fright, I wondered greatly what they were for. Alas! it was not long before I learnt the terrible powers of the cruel ‘squailer.’ After a good deal of argument and dispute one of the new-comers swung himself up on to the lowest bough. He climbed far better and faster than the one who had tried before, and in a very short time had reached a bough close below our old drey. By this time I was getting over my fright a little. I turned to Rusty, who was next me.