and slugs that ate the crops, as he usually did.
I had made the coop proof against White-plume, but had not thought of Sly-Boy. Sly-Boy was a weasel, who lived under the barn; and a very dangerous fellow he was, for he could kill hens as well as chickens when he chose to do so.
A few nights after the visit of White-plume, Sly-Boy came; and in the morning I picked up three dead chicks in the coop, and a fourth was missing. This left but four; and the distress of Madam Cluck, as she moved about among her rapidly-disappearing family, was truly sad.
I stopped up all of the cracks in the coop but one; and at that one I set a trap, and the next morning, to my surprise, found Sly-Boy in it. I treated him just as he had treated the chickens, and was glad to get rid of him. I hate to catch other dumb creatures; but the weasel is a destroyer, and he does not kill just to get food for himself.
Perhaps it was the stealing of the nest—a sin of the mother—that brought misfortune to the children; for certainly this was a most unfortunate family. It was only three days after the visit of Sly-Boy, that one of the remaining chickens strayed under the barn, where the long-tailed and long-whiskered family lived. He was soon spied by Charkey Kibbler, the oldest son of the rat family, and in a few minutes they were breakfasting on a tender young chicken.
