Mother told us that she had never seen weather like it before, and shook her head a good deal, prophesying that food would be as scanty during the coming autumn as it had been plentiful the previous year. Certainly there seemed good ground for her forebodings, for the oaks had hardly set any acorns, and there was little sign of mast upon the beech-trees. It looked as though the birds, also, would be likely to suffer, for the hips and haws dropped before setting from the drought, the hollies and yews had no berries, and the blackberry crop seemed as though it would be a complete failure. Towards the end of July we had a spell of intense heat. We all took up our abode in our summer drey, opening both doors in order to let the draught, when there was any, blow through, and never stirred out except in the early morning and late evening. We felt the heat severely; but, after all, were far better off than the ground creatures. The grass in the meadows outside the gate had turned quite brown, and the unlucky rabbits were forced to travel long distances to find grazing. There are few things, by the bye, which a rabbit dislikes more greatly than venturing any considerable distance from his home. The poor young ones paid a heavy toll to the stoats and weasels during that famine-time, for the vermin had them at their mercy when the little chaps visited the hedgerows to look for a little greenstuff. The birds ceased singing almost completely, and the only place where much bird-life was still to be seen in our neighbourhood was around the pool down at the end of the coppice. This was almost dry, but a few square yards of stagnant, shallow water still remained in the centre, surrounded by a wide space of mud dotted all over with the footprints of dozens of different species of birds, and not a few four-legged creatures as well. It must have been about the twelfth day of the heat, which turned out the most sultry I ever experienced in my life. The sun rose crimson in a crimson sky. No breath of air was abroad, and the leaves hung down straight without a flicker of movement. The coppice was uncannily silent, a silence broken only by the hum of insects, which rose drowsily through the foliage; the only moving things were butterflies, flaunting on painted wings, and a few lizards and snakes—reptiles for which no weather seems too hot. All six of us lay out on the branches under the thickest shade we could find, tongues lolling out, too listless to trouble about food or even to talk. As the afternoon drew on, and the shadows lengthened towards the east, I suggested to Sable that we should go off in search of supper. I mentioned an oat-field just across the road, where I had an idea that the grain would be ripe enough to provide an easily-won meal.