The birds were silent; only the blackbird’s evensong across the treetops, and sometimes a peevish jay vainly screeching for “Quiet!” Here and there was the slap of great wings as a pheasant rose to its branch to sleep. The nervous, twitching bats crisscrossed in the air. From the grass came the shrill chirping of the crickets.

The two squirrels were just on their way home. There was still light enough to see, but they wanted to be in their nests before the terrible owl began her plaintive cries.

Below them was a continuous loud rustling, a steady crackling, a dull trampling. The noise did not stir from the spot. It was loud and constant.

Perri sat up. “Listen!” she whispered. “Something awful must be happening.”

“Let’s look,” said Porro.

“I don’t dare.” Perri sat spellbound.

“Nonsense!” whispered Porro. Boldly he jumped a couple of branches lower, hurried to the end of a limb and peered down.

Driven by curiosity, Perri followed. She sat down beside him. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I can’t really see,” replied Porro, “but we’re safe up here. Don’t be scared; nothing can happen to us.”

They went down to the next branch. Porro went first. He whispered back, “Quick, quick! Something extraordinary!” and Perri leaped after him.

A powerful roebuck stood by the young hazel bush, rubbing his horns against it and pawing the ground. His every gesture spoke defiance. With lowered head he charged at the hazel bush, ripping up its slender stems, tearing off the bark in long strips. The bright, wounded wood bled greenish-yellow sap. The whole bush trembled. The leaves whirled and scattered.

At intervals the buck stamped the ground. He stripped the little spot of every grass blade; he stamped and stamped, scraped and scraped.

“Why is he raging so?” asked Perri softly.

Softly Porro replied, “I have no idea.”

From the treetop Mother called, “Perri! Come on to sleep. It’s getting late.”

Perri could not tear herself away. “Look, Mother, look!”

Her mother whizzed down to crouch beside the children. She watched the roebuck’s antics without surprise. “Yes. . . . Well—?”

“Why is he so angry?” Perri inquired.

“Yes, why?” Porro was also curious.

“Nonsense!” said Mother. “He’s not angry at all.”

“But—he’s raging so!” Perri contradicted. “Did the bush do something to him?”

“Don’t be a stupid! The poor, harmless bush couldn’t do anything to anyone. And he isn’t raging.”

The roebuck had had enough. He took a few steps sidewise, and stopped in the green thicket, holding his head high. His horns shone damply.