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THE MARTENS.
93
" At last one day, when prowling aimlessly
about, I heard a hoarse croak, and at the
hated sound I pricked up my ears, and
cautiously peered through the branches. What
was my delight at seeing my hated enemy, the
raven, caught fast in a trap, from which,
however, he seemed likely to escape. I rushed
upon him, and regardless of the wounds that
his beak inflicted upon me, I fastened my teeth
in his throat, and gradually I felt his struggles
grow fainter and fainter, until at last he sank
down dead. Our cries and struggles had been
heard by my wife, and we now together set to
work to drag the raven from the trap, so as to
take him to our den. We had some trouble in
getting him up the tree, but at last we
succeeded in reaching the entrance of our home,
and on quitting our hold he fell with a dull
thud to the bottom, and I laughed to myself as
I thought how the irony of fate had ruled that
his last resting-place should be the spot where,
long before, he had committed the wicked deed
which had eventually caused his death.
" My wife and I now quitted our home for
ever, and set out in search of a new one. We
had not gone far before I suddenly felt the
ground sink from under me, and fell into a deep
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