Part 16

When at last the five young ones started out to learn to dig they followed the mother in single file along the main tunnel. This main tunnel was long and straight. Its walls were pressed smooth by the bodies of the old moles in their many journeys to and fro. Branching off in every direction from the main road there were side tracks zigzagging and curving hither and thither. These side tracks had been dug by the parents when they were chasing worms or hunting for grubs and beetles.

The babies scampered on to the end of the main tunnel. There the ground happened to be soft enough for their little claws. They crowded against one another, and squeaked and twitched their short tails impatiently. Their pink snouts were already bending and twisting in eagerness to be a-digging.

The fattest little fellow was in such a hurry to begin that he did not wait to be told. He nosed along the wall till he found a good place to start. Then planting his small hind-feet down flat, to brace himself, he set his tough snout against the dirt and pushed as hard as he could. At the same time he dug his claws into the wall and shovelled away with both his big broad hands.

There they went—the five babies—digging five little tunnels in five different directions. The dirt flew thick and fast as they shovelled it out and tossed it aside. But the specks of eyes were safely hidden under the fur, and the invisible ears and nostrils were kept closely covered too. When the dirt clung to their satiny gray fur they shook it off clean with a quick shrug of the skin. The hairs of the fur grew straight out, and so it made no difference whether it was rubbed one way or another. It was never bristly or rough.

It must have been fun to go scrambling through earth almost as birds fly through air or fishes swim through water. The moles had such tough snouts and strong arms and powerful hands that they could burrow better than any of the other mammals.

One little mole burrowed on till his arms were so tired that he gave it up. He crept backward down his new tunnel to the spot where the old mother was waiting. Another kept on digging faster and faster till he ran his pink snout bump against a stone, and almost made it bleed. A third pushed on and on till he reached a patch of slimy mud that caved in over his back and sent his feet slipping and sprawling. The fourth dug till he came plump upon a fat white grub curled among some roots of grass. The little mole gave a jump and gobbled it down quick as a wink.

The fattest baby burrowed farther and farther till he felt the soil crumbling above him. Something warm was shining on his gray fur. He lifted his head and poked his long snout up into the sunlight. He blinked his twinkling, tiny eyes and sniffed the strange fresh air. But he stayed there only for a minute, because he did not like it the least bit. The light dazzled him, and the warmth dried his cool, pink hands and made his head ache and his snout twitch uneasily. So after that one disagreeable minute he turned and kicked up his little hind-feet as he dived back into the moist, cool, dark, delightful places underground.

After this first lesson in digging the five young moles were running in and out of the nursery every few hours, night and day. It was easy enough to burrow away in search of the stupid white grubs or the beetles lying sleepy and still in the soil; but it was harder and much more exciting to hunt earthworms, because they always tried to wriggle off as fast as they could go.

Then how the dirt flew as the little hunter burrowed madly in pursuit! Now in this direction, now in that, he chased, pushing with his snout and tearing with his claws. Once in a while he stopped quiet to listen and feel the ground for the faint quivering caused by the worm in its squirming hither and thither.

An hour or so of such lively work was enough to tire even a stout young mole. After eating what he had caught, sometimes he ran back to take a nap on the soft bed in the nursery. Sometimes he lay down in the main tunnel to rest; but that was not so pleasant, for it seemed as if one or another of his brothers and sisters was forever trying to scramble over him.

The busiest time for hunting was at night, or in the early morning, because then the worms began to move about after lying quiet all day. In dry weather the worms went deeper into the ground to find moisture. In wet weather they wriggled toward the surface, swallowing bits of dirt as they went. The little moles liked rain best because it was much easier to push through the light soil above than to tunnel through the hard ground below.

After the young ones learned to hunt for their own food it was not long before they had found and eaten every worm and grub and beetle anywhere near. The old and new tunnels ran in every direction, curving, zigzagging, and criss-crossing through the ground. There was hardly a spot of solid earth under all the grass in that meadow.

Now and then on cool nights the whole hungry family crept outside and prowled about, looking for lizards, snails, or frogs. Once in a while one of them found a dead bird or mouse or small snake. He sprang on it and tore it to pieces in an instant. The moles always ate as if they were starving. Drawing back their heads and hunching their backs they stuffed the food into their mouths with their clawed hands.

As summer passed on the young moles began to grow discontented. They were tired of staying at home. They were too big to crowd upon the nest in the nursery. Whenever two met in any of the narrow tunnels one had to back into a side track to let the other pass. The water was stagnant in the wells. Food was getting more and more scarce. Many a time there was a sound of scratching and fighting in the long dark halls of that underground home.

Soon each little mole began to think of having a home of his own, where there would be nobody else to crowd him, or quarrel with him, or snatch the best of everything to eat. So presently, one by one, they wandered away to find pleasanter places. One prowled into a garden, and tunnelled ridges all over the green lawn. One stumbled into a pond, but he did not drown, for he could swim with his webbed feet. He swam across to a small island and dug his house under a bank where he could catch plenty of frogs.

The three others strolled into a field that had been freshly ploughed. The soil was not wet nor hard nor stony, but just what they liked best. Each one chose a corner, and ran his main tunnel from end to end of the space to be used for his hunting-ground.

The five new homes were much like the old one. Each had a domed underground room with a nest of leaves and grasses in it, and several outlets to allow escape in case of danger. Each had one or more main tunnels, with smooth-pressed sides and many zigzag side tracks leading in all directions. Each one had tiny wells of water, and little storerooms for the winter supply of earthworms.

When winter came, and the ground was frozen hard above, each little mole, alone by himself, dived down into his safe deep nest and stayed there till early spring softened the soil. Then, livelier than ever, he shovelled his way out to the surface to find a mate. Soon in every pleasant little home under the ground there was a new family of soft, round babies, with their specks of eyes deep hidden in their satiny gray fur.

CONCLUSION

CONCLUSION

COUNTLESS years have passed since that day, long, long ago, when the first tiny living creature began to grow in the new world of rocks and water. All this time things have been moving and changing. The earth keeps whizzing around the sun, while the sun itself rushes blazing through space. Brooks are rippling; rivers are flowing; seas are rolling their waves against the shores. Now the trees toss their branches in the wind; now the rain sprinkles down from gray clouds, or snow drifts silently over the prairie.

In the spring all the wilderness is green with growing leaves and flowers and grasses. The world is alive with animals. In the water sea creatures are feeding in their places, or floating and swimming here and there. On land there are worms and insects, creeping reptiles and flying birds.

From inland ponds beavers scramble ashore in the dusk to nibble fresh twigs for supper. In southern rivers the manatee crawls over the white sand among the reeds. On island beaches little seals go paddling in safe pools. Out at sea great whales glide through the waves.

On the plains buffalo calves kick up their heels near the grazing herd. Elk, with ears twitching at every strange sound, wander down from upland meadows. In the woods rabbits hop away under the bushes. Little shrews dart from leaf to leaf among the shadows. In wilder spots pointed noses sniff and bright eyes twinkle from the dens of wolves and foxes. Bears shuffle softly through the underbrush, and panthers steal out on tiptoe to their hunting.

In the trees squirrels scamper from branch to branch. Now and then a mother opossum trots by with her pocket full of young ones. Bats fly this way and that in hungry pursuit of insects dancing in the twilight air. Under the ground moles dig busily after worms.

All these mammals and, many others live wild in the United States, and there are many others still, more or less like them, in foreign lands.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: italics.