They had, probably, been lying out on the warm stones, until, hearing
strange footsteps, they had glided away to cover. When I crashed down
near them they had been scared into showing their temper; else I had
never seen them in the underbrush. Fortunately for me, the fierce old
mother was away. Had she been there, I should undoubtedly have had
more serious business on hand than watching her kittens.
They had not seen more of me than my shoes and stockings; so when I
stole after them, to see what they were like, they were waiting under
a bush to see what I was like. They jumped away again, spitting,
without seeing me, alarmed by the rustle which I could not avoid
making in the cover. So I followed them, just a quiver of leaves here,
a snarl there, and then a rush away, until they doubled back towards
the rocky place, where, parting the underbrush cautiously, I saw a
dark hole among the rocks of a little opening. The roots of an
upturned tree arched over the hole, making a broad doorway. In this
doorway stood two half-grown lucivees, fuzzy and gray and
savage-looking, their backs still up, their wild eyes turned in my
direction apprehensively.
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