A lump of toasted cheese, or an old grease rag, or a well-starched collar, or a lump of cold suet pudding would have suited him nicely, but inexorable experience had taught him that such delicacies were seldom to be found in the roof of the barn.

Under the circumstances, any old moth or beetle or spider, dead or alive, would be better than nothing.
"How his little black, beadlike eyes glistened as they fell upon that frail membrane of a wing fluttering on the beam! He darted forward, straight and swift as a weaver's shuttle, seized the delicate wing in his strong white teeth, and dragged the baby bat from her hiding place.
Baby as she was, she was game.

For one moment she sat up and chattered angry defiance, in a voice like the winding of a watch, but so thin and high-pitched that only a fine ear could have caught it.

Then the mouse seized her, bit her tiny neck through, and dragged her off, sprawling limply, along the beam." The Child nodded vigorously.

He needed nothing more to convince him of the superior security of a life of travel and adventure, as compared with the truly appalling perils of staying at home.
"I see you take me!" said Uncle Andy approvingly.