Later a short-legged brown animal, as big as a Rabbit, came nosing up the dry but shady bed of the brook, and as it went beneath them Yan recognized by its little Beaver-like head and scaly oar-shaped tail that it was a Muskrat, apparently seeking for water.

There was plenty in the swimming-pond yet, and the boys realized that this had become a gathering place for those wild things that were “drowned out by the drought,” as Sam put it.

The Muskrat had not gone more than twenty minutes before another deep-brown animal appeared.  “Another Muskrat; must be a meeting,” whispered the Woodpecker.  But this one, coming close, proved a very different creature.  As long as a Cat, but lower, with broad, flat head and white chin and throat, short legs, in shape a huge Weasel, there was no mistaking it; this was a Mink, the deadly enemy of the Muskrat, and now on the track of its prey.  It rapidly turned the corner, nosing the trail like a Hound.  If it overtook the Muskrat before it got to the pond there would be a tragedy.  If the Muskrat reached the deep water it might possibly escape.  But just as sure as the pond became a gathering place for Muskrats it would also become a gathering place for Mink.

Not five minutes had gone since the Mink went by before a silent gray form flashed upon the log opposite.  Oh, how sleek and elegant it looked!  What perfection of grace she seemed after the waddling, hunchy Muskrat and the quick but lumbering Mink.  There is nothing more supple and elegant than a fine Cat, and men of science the world over have taken the Cat as the standard of perfection in animal make-up.  Pussy glanced about for danger.  She had brought no bird or Mouse, for the Kittens were yet too young for such training.  The boys watched her with intensest interest.  She glided along the log to the hole—­the Skunk-smelling hole—­uttered her low “purrow, purrow,” that always sets the hungry Kittens agog, and was curling in around them, when she discovered the pink Squirrel-babies among her own.  She stopped licking the nearest Kitten, stared at a young Squirrel, and smelled it.  Yan wondered what help that could be when everything smelled of Skunk.  But it did seem to decide her, for she licked it a moment, then lying down she gathered them all in her four-legged embrace, turned her chin up in the air and Sappy announced gleefully that “The little Squirrels were feeding with the little Cats.”

The boys waited a while longer, then having made sure that the little Squirrels had been lovingly adopted by their natural enemy, they went quietly back to camp.  Now they found a daily pleasure in watching the mixed family.

And here it may be as well to give the rest of the story.  The old gray Cat faithfully and lovingly nursed those foundlings.  They seemed to prosper, and Yan, recalling that he had heard of a Cat actually raising a brood of Rabbits, looked forward to the day when Kittens and Squirrelets should romp together in the sun.  After a week Sappy maintained that only one Squirrel appeared at the breakfast table, and in ten days none.  Yan stole over to the log and learned the truth.  All four were dead in the bottom of the nest.  There was nothing to tell why.  The old Cat had done her best—­had been all love and tenderness, but evidently had not been able to carry out her motherly intentions.