to climb it when the latch of the kitchen door lifted. At the sound she abandoned her purpose, and that very unwisely, because she was in quite as much danger of being seen as if she had crossed the wall. For where was she to hide? There was the open shed, it is true, but she could hardly hope to gain it before the man reached the yard. “Crunch, crunch, crunch,” sounded the snow under his feet; he was already close to the gate, discovery was imminent. In desperation, the bewildered creature dived into a hole in the snow made by a hoof of one of the yearlings. Even then her tail was exposed for some seconds before she succeeded in worming a way out of sight, but it did not catch the eye of the man, and for the time at least she was safe. The hare, who had observed every movement of the polecat, kept a close watch on the spot, for he greatly feared that the creature would cross the wall at the first opportunity and perhaps discover him. Meanwhile the hind busied himself about his ordinary duties until near noon, when he began to remove the snow from the front door, a sure sign that guests were expected. As he shovelled, he sang: “I saw dree ships come sailing in, Sailing in, come sailing in, I saw dree ships come sailing in, On Christmas Day in the morning”— shovelling and singing till the steps and the path all the way to the gate were clear. No sooner had he finished than the farmer’s three sons arrived, with their wives and families, the women riding pillion behind their husbands, and the children in panniers borne by donkeys. There was quite a string of donkeys; the headgear of each and of the little foal which closed the procession, was decked with holly; the merry voices of the laughing, chattering children rang out most musically. Last of all came the fiddler, a long, lean man, shivering in his thin garments as he ran, his nose blue with cold, his violin in a green baize bag under his arm. He threw a snowball at Andrew, then skipped up the steps like a lamplighter, and as the door closed on the heels of his cloth boots, it shut in the welcome with which the children greeted his arrival. Now the work that Andrew got through between the coming of the fiddler and two of the clock, in order not to be “worrited” whilst at meat, was a record on Brea Farm. In the multitude of his duties, however, one thing escaped him—he forgot to shut up the rooster. The oversight, as things turned out, meant a sore trial for the cock, tragic consequences for the hare. Nor were they long in coming.