As the days went by, and the young ones grew lively and independent, the Little Villager and his mate grew less and less anxious about them.

Their soft eyes now wide open, they would leave the nest and wander about the burrow, in spite of all that their mother or their father (whichever happened to be in charge at the time) could do to prevent them.

There were so many of them, moreover, that it was quite impossible to keep an eye on them all at once.
"Late one afternoon, in that debatable time when the owls in their corner were just beginning to wake up, two of the youngsters ran over quite near them.

The temptation was irresistible.

There was a light pounce, a light squeak instantly strangled, and _one_ of the youngsters, badly frightened, ran back to the mother.