and what the Child aspired to was the knowledge of how to catch them
off their guard. He would learn to see for himself how the rabbits and
the partridges, the woodchucks and the weasels, the red deer, the
porcupines, and all the other furtive folk who had their habitations
around the tranquil shores of Silverwater, were really accustomed to
behave themselves when they felt quite sure no one was looking.

Before consenting to the Child's initiation, Uncle Andy had impressed
upon him with the greatest care the enormity of breaking the spell of
stillness by even the slightest and most innocent-seeming movement.

"You see," had said Uncle Andy, "it's this way! When we get to the
place where we are going to hide and watch, you may think that we're
quite alone. But not so. From almost every bush, from surely every
thicket, there'll be at least one pair of bright eyes staring at
us--maybe several pairs. They'll be wondering what we've come for;
they'll be disliking us for being so clumsy and making such a racket,
and they'll be keeping just as still as so many stones in the hope that
we won't see them--except, of course, certain of the birds, which fly
in the open and are used to being seen, and don't care a hang for us
because they think us such poor creatures in not being able to fly--"

At this point the Child had interrupted:

"Wouldn't they be surprised," he murmured, "if we did?"

"I expect they've got some surprises coming to them that way one of
these days!" agreed Uncle Andy. "But, as I was saying, we'll be well
watched ourselves for a while. But it's a curious thing about the wild
creatures, or at least about a great many of them, that for all their