evidently made by a tail. I would have thought it the work of fairies, dancing in the moonlight,
had I not dedicated my life to Science. As it was, I surmised almost
instantly that it was the Field Mouse—the common species, known as
_rodentia feminis scarus_, and reference to my books proved me right.

By measuring the prints, according to the metric system, with delicate
instruments I had brought for the purpose, I soon discovered that these
tracks were all made by the same individual. The Bertillon method has
its uses, but unfortunately I was not sufficiently up in my calling, as
yet, to reconstruct the entire animal from a track. I have since done
it, but I could not then.

Tom-Tom came out into the sunlight, waving his glorious, plumed tail,
yawning, and loudly demanding food. I called him to me, using the old,
familiar Cat-call which I have always employed with the species, and the
faithful pet made a great bound toward me. Suddenly he stopped, as if
caught on a foul half-way to the grand stand, and began to sniff
angrily. His back arched, his tail enlarged, and began to wave in a
circle. Great agitation possessed Tom-Tom, and he, too, was scrutinising
the sand. Wondering at his fine instinct, I hastened to his side, and, thereupon,
my pet unmistakably hissed. It required a magnifying-glass and some
reconstruction of line before I could make out what had so disturbed
him, but at last I discovered that a rude picture of a Cat had been
drawn in the sand, evidently by a tail tipped with malice, immediately
in front of my cabin door! Truth compels me to state that the hideous caricature was not unlike
Tom-Tom in its essential lines. No wonder he was angry! Before I could
get a photograph of the spot, however, Tom-Tom had clawed it out of
existence. Nothing remained but to soothe his ruffled feelings, which I
did with a fresh Fish newly caught from the lake.

During the day, I meditated upon my nocturnal visitor. Evidently he had
drawn the Cat in the sand as a warning to others of his kind, as some
specimens of the genus _homo_ mark gate-posts. That night I made the
sand smooth before retiring, and in the morning I looked anxiously for
further messages, but there was nothing there. A charm had evidently
been set against my cabin door. I began to consider getting rid of Tom-Tom, feeling sure that the Mice
would know it if I did so, but after long study, I concluded that it was
better to keep my faithful companion than to wait in loneliness for

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