Summary

Portrait of Myrtle Reed Myrtle Reed The Book of Clever Beasts: Studies in Unnatural History

Kirsten, literally paralysed with horror, stood like a statue.
The Bear was gaining at every step. Go it, Miranda! On, for Heaven’s sake on! Heed not the thorns that pierce thy tender feet, but run, Miranda, run!
With an inarticulate moan, Mrs. Kirsten flew down the steps, her arms outstretched, and I followed, willing to sacrifice my own life, if need be, to save the child of the woman I loved. But we were too late. Snoof—for it was she—felled Miranda to the ground with one blow, turned her limp body over, face upward, and took something out of her hand, throwing it aside with an angry sniff.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Myrtle Reed Myrtle Reed The Book of Clever Beasts: Studies in Unnatural History

From the distant shrubbery, from the same quarter where I had repeatedly felt the bright eyes, I heard a thump-thump-thump, perfectly metrical, and in time with my merry tune. It was accompanied by a soft patter, seemingly from very small hands. With a sudden reversion to my former interests I threw the concertina aside, and dashed into the forest.
There, beneath a bush, were Jenny Ragtail and her son, Chee-Wee, still patting and thumping in the metre of the cake-walk and not knowing that the music had stopped. It takes sound some time to travel and I have always been very quick on my feet.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Myrtle Reed Myrtle Reed The Book of Clever Beasts: Studies in Unnatural History

The end of a wild animal is always a tragedy.
One day, when Little Upsidaisi was asleep in my hat, I followed Tom-Tom’s trail into the woods, paying close attention to the marks upon the trees. Far away, so far away that I no longer wondered how the Cat had worn out eight separate and distinct boots in as many weeks, I came upon a nest at the foot of a pine tree, in the hollow formed by the outspreading roots, and lined with the fragrant pine needles.
Source: Gutenberg

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