A shiver crept over me as I felt, even sooner than I saw, a pair
of small sinister eyes fixed upon mine. The evil pointed head, heavy but
alert, and with a suggestion of fierce strength out of all relation to
the slender body, was watching me from between the sticks of cordwood.
And so he had been watching the mice and birds and rabbits feasting
under the tree!
I packed a ball of snow round and hard, slipped forward upon my knees,
and hurled it. "Spat!" it struck the end of a stick within an inch of
the ugly head, filling the crevice with snow. Instantly the head
appeared at another crack, and another ball struck viciously beside it.
Now it was back where it first appeared, and did not flinch for the
next, or the next ball. The third went true, striking with a "chug" and
packing the crack. But the black, hating eyes were still watching me a
foot lower down.
It is not all peace and good-will in the Christmas woods. But there is
more of peace and good-will than of any other spirit. The weasels are
few. More friendly and timid eyes were watching me than bold and
murderous. It was foolish to want to kill--even the weasel. For one's
woods are what one makes them; and so I let the man with the gun, who
chanced along, think that I had turned boy again, and was snowballing
the woodpile, just for the fun of trying to hit the end of the biggest
stick.
I was glad he had come. As he strode off with his stained bag, I felt
kindlier toward the weasel.
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