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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff7f7d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66113 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66113) diff --git a/old/66113-0.txt b/old/66113-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 123acac..0000000 --- a/old/66113-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3892 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wildwood Ways, by Winthrop Packard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Wildwood Ways - -Author: Winthrop Packard - -Release Date: August 23, 2021 [eBook #66113] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Steve Mattern, Chuck Greif and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This - file was produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILDWOOD WAYS *** - - - - - WILDWOOD WAYS - - [Illustration: The muskrats have built higher than common this year] - - - - - WILDWOOD WAYS - - BY - - WINTHROP PACKARD - - AUTHOR OF “WILD PASTURES” - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - - SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY - - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1909 - - BY SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY - - (INCORPORATED) - - _Entered at Stationers’ Hall_ - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - -The author wishes to express his thanks to the “Boston Transcript” for - permission to reprint in this volume matter which was originally - contributed to its columns. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -SNUGGING-DOWN DAYS 1 - -CERTAIN WHITE-FACED HORNETS 23 - -THIN ICE 45 - -WINTER FERN-HUNTING 65 - -THE BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER 87 - -SOME JANUARY BIRDS 107 - -WHEN THE SNOW CAME 129 - -THE MINK’S HUNTING GROUND 151 - -IN THE WHITE WOODS 169 - -THE ROAD TO MUDDY POND 191 - -AMONG THE MUSKRAT LODGES 215 - -THICK ICE 235 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -The muskrats have built higher than common this -year _Frontispiece_ - - OPPOSITE PAGE - -Their paper fort ... had by September grown to -the dimensions of a water-bucket and contained -a prodigious swarm of valiant fighters 34 - -There are other feathered folk who seem to delight -in the cold 118 - -Here in a little tangle of tiny undergrowth and -brown leaves, with a fallen trunk for overhead -shelter, you might find him any forenoon 132 - -You may ... get a glimpse of the weasel-like head -of one lifted above the bank as he sniffs the -breeze for game and enemies 160 - -He lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy -black neck feathers and strutted 179 - -He was in and out again in a jiffy 182 - - - - -SNUGGING-DOWN DAYS - - -To-day came with a flashing sun that looked through crystal-clear -atmosphere into the eyes of a keen northwest wind that had dried up all -of November’s fog and left no trace of moisture to hold its keenness and -touch you with its chill. It was one of those days when the cart road -from the north side to the south side of a pine wood leads you from -early December straight to early May. On the one side is a nipping and -eager air; on the other sunny softness and a smell of spring. It is more -than that difference of a hundred miles in latitude which market -gardeners say exists between the north and south side of a board fence. -It is like having thousand league boots and passing from Labrador to -Louisiana at a stride. - -On the north side of a strip of woodland which borders the boggy outlet -to Ponkapoag Pond lies a great mowing field, and here among the sere -stubble I stand in the pale shadow of deciduous trees and face the wind -coming over the rolling uplands as it might come across Arctic barrens, -singing down upon the northerly outposts of the timber line. On the -south side the muskrat teepees rise from blue water at the bog edge like -peaks of Teneriffe from the sunny seas that border the Canary Isles. -Such contrasts you may find on many an early December day, when walking -in the rarefied brightness of the open air is like moving about in the -heart of a diamond. - -Yet even the big mowing field shows unmistakable signs of having been -snugged down for the winter. Here and there a tree, still afloat in its -brown undulating ocean, seems to be scudding for the shelter of the -forest under bare poles, while the stout white oaks lie to near the -coast under double-reefed courses, the brown leaf-sails still holding to -the lower yards while all the spars above have been blown bare. The -woodchuck paths, that not long ago led from one clover patch to another -and then on to well-hidden holes, lie pale and untravelled, while their -fat owners are snugged down below in warm burrows with their noses -folded in under their forepaws. Tradition has it that they will wake in -a warm spell in midwinter and peer out of their burrows to see what the -prospect of spring may be. Hence, the second of February is not only -Candlemas day, but ground-hog day in rural tradition, the day on which -the woodchuck is fabled to appear at the mouth of his underground -retreat and look for weather signs, but I don’t know anyone who has ever -seen him do it. You may often find skunk tracks in the snow or mud -during a good midwinter thaw, but I have never seen those of the -woodchuck then, and I am quite confident that he stays snugged down the -winter through. - -Scattered here and there about the borders of the field are groups of -dwarf goldenrod still in full leaf and flower, so far as form goes. The -crowded terminal panicles of bloom bend gracefully towards earth like -stout ostrich plumes, and I think they are more beautiful in the -feathery russet of crowded seed-masses than they were in their September -finery of golden yellow. Their stems are lined with leaves still, but -these have lost their sombre green to put on the color of deep seal -brown. It is as if they had donned their sealskin cloaks for winter -wear. - -But all these clumps are doubly protected in another way, not for their -own sake, for they are but dead stems, but for the birds, who will need -their seeds when the snows later in the month shall have covered the -ground far out of their reach. All the autumn the winds have been -whirling dry leaves back and forth, and each clump has trapped them -cunningly till the slender stems that might otherwise be buried and -broken by the snow are reënforced on all sides by elastic leaves that -will hold them bravely up. Here is an open larder, a free-lunch counter -for the goldfinches and chickadees of next January. Here they may glean -and glean again, for except they be plucked by eager beaks some of -these seeds will not let go their grip on the receptacles till spring -rains loosen them and the ground is fit for their sowing. - -Everywhere in wood and pasture the numbers of seeds of plants and trees -that are thus held waiting the winter gleaners are incomputable; nor -will these need to seek them on the plant itself, for little by little -as the winter winds come and go they will loose their hold and scatter -themselves about as we scatter crumbs for the snow-birds and sparrows. -Here are the birches, for instance, holding fast still to their wealth. -If bursting spring buds could be gray-brown in color instead of -sage-green we well might think the trees had another almanac than our -own and that with them it was late April, for wherever the trees are -silhouetted against the light we see every twig decorated with new -life. It is new life, indeed, but not that of spring leaves. Every tree -has a thousand cones, and every cone is packed with tiny seeds about a -central core of stiff fibre that is like a fine wire. - -Holding the seeds tight in their places are little flat scales, having -an outline like that of a conventionalized fleur-de-lis or somewhat like -tiny flying birds. The whole is so keyed by the tip that as they hang -head down it is possible to dislodge only the topmost scales and seeds. -A very vigorous shake of the tree sends a cloud of these flying, but -when you look at the tree you find that not a thousandth part of its -store has been dispensed. When the midwinter snows lie deep all about, -the paymaster wind will requisition these stores as needed for the tiny -creatures of the wood and scatter them wide on the white surface, till -it will look as if spiced by the confectioner, so well does the forest -take care of its own. The Lady Amina of the Arabian tale picking single -grains of rice at the banquet might not seem to dine more daintily. The -spring will be near at hand when the last of these birch seeds will have -been dispensed. Thus innumerable graneries are stored the woodland and -pasture through, so lightly locked that all may pilfer, and so -abundantly filled, pressed down and running over that there shall be no -lack in either quantity or variety. - -Far other and stranger forms of winter-guarding forethought are to be -seen all about the big mowing field and in the coppices that divide it -from the open marsh and the pond shore, if we will but look for them. In -many places has witchery been at work as well as forethought, and -strange and unaccountable things have been brought to pass that tiny -creatures may be kept safe until spring. Here and there among the -goldenrod stems you find one that is swollen to the size of a hickory -nut, a smooth globe which is merely the stem expanded from the diameter -of a toothpick to three-quarters of an inch. When I split this bulb with -my knife I find it made up of tough pith shot through with the growing -fibres of the plant, but having a tiny hollow in the centre. - -Here, snugly ensconced and safe from all the cold and storms, is a lazy -creature so fat that he looks like a globular ball of white wax. Only -when I poke him does he squirm, and I can see his mouth move in protest. -His fairy language is too fine for my ear, tuned to the rough accents -of the great world, but if I am any judge of countenances he is saying: -“Why, damme, sir! how dare you intrude on my privacy!” - -After all he has a right to be indignant, for I have not only wrecked -his winter home, but turned him out, unclothed and unprotected, to die -in the first nip of the shrewish wind. Unmolested he would have -leisurely enlarged his pith hall by eating away its substance and in the -spring have bored himself a cunning hole whence he might emerge, spread -tiny wings and enjoy the sunshine and soft air of summer. His own -transformations from egg to grub, from grub to gall-fly, are curious -enough; yet stranger yet and far more savoring of magic is the growth of -his winter home. By what hocus-pocus the mother that laid him there made -the slender stem of the goldenrod grow about him this luxurious home, -is known only to herself and her kindred, and until I learn to hear and -translate the language which the grub used in swearing at me when I -broke into his home, it is probable that I shall still remain ignorant. - -But let us leave Labrador and let ourselves loose upon Louisiana, for we -may do it in five minutes. The oaks and the pines, the maples, the -birches and the shrubs of the close-set thickets which guard the bog -edge, I know not what straining and restraining power they have upon -this keen wind, but when it has filtered through them it has lost its -shrewishness and, meeting the warm embrace of the low hung sun, bears -aromas of spring. It is as if wood violets had shot his garments full of -tiny odors of April as he traversed the wood, or perhaps the perpetual -magic of life which seems to well up from swampy woodland had seized -upon him as it seizes upon all that passes and made him the bearer of -its potency. Across the bog to the pond outlet, through this spring-soft -atmosphere lies a slender road, lined with thickets, where I do not -wonder the _Callosamia promethia_, the spice-bush silk-moth, likes to -spin his own winter snuggery and dangle in the soft air till the real -spring taps at his silken doorway and soft rains lift the latch and let -him out. - -Not far away, among the leaves that lie ankle deep among the shrubbery -that skirts the hickories and oaks, are the cocoons of _Actias luna_; -among them, shed from the oaks, are those of _Telia Polyphemus_, and if -I seek, it is not difficult to find the big pouch where _Samia -cecropia_ waits for the same call. Some May evening there shall be a -brave awakening in the glades and on the borders of the bog. It shall be -as if the tans and pinky purples and rose and yellow of the finest -autumn leaves took wing again in the spring twilight and floated about -at will owing nothing to the winds, and then the luna moth, the fairy -queen of dusk, all clad in daintiest green trimmed with ermine and seal -and ostrich plumes, shall come among them and reign by right of such -beauty as the night rarely sees, all this sprung from the papery cocoons -swung in the roadside bushes or tumbled neglectfully among the shifting -autumn leaves in the tangle at the roots of the wild smilax. - -Here is magic for you, indeed, of the kind that the parlor magician is -wont to supply; frail and beautiful things grown at a breath, almost, -from obscure and trivial sources. Yet I seem to find a more potent if -less spectacular witchery in what has been done to the willows that here -and there grow in the thicket that borders the slender bog road. Some -winged sprite has touched their branch tips with fairy wand and -whispered a potent word to them, and the willows have obeyed and grown -cones! These are an inch or more in length and as perfect with scales as -those of the pines up in the wood. But there are no seeds of willow life -in them. Instead there is at the core an orange-yellow, minute grub, the -larva of a fly that stung the willow tip last spring and, stinging it, -laid her egg therein. - -That the egg should become a grub and that later the grub in turn should -become a fly is nothing in the way of magic, or that it should fatten -in the meanwhile on willow fibre. The necromancy comes in the fact that -every willow tip that is made the home of this grub should thenceforth -forsake all its recognized methods of growth and produce a cone for the -harboring of the grub during the winter’s cold. There are many varieties -of these gall-producing insects. The oaks still hold spherical -attachments to their leaves, produced in the same way. Look among your -small fruits and you will find the blackberry stems swollen and -tuberculous from a similar cause, and full of squirming life. It is all -necromancy out of the same book, the book of the witchery of insects -that makes human life and growth seem absurdly simple by comparison. The -snugging down of the open world in preparation for winter is full of -such tales, and he who runs through the wood on such a day in December -may read them. - -Standing in the spring-like warmth at the pond outlet and looking down -the line where bog meets water I can count the dark peaks of the muskrat -teepees, receding like a coast range toward the other shore. The -muskrats have built higher than common this year, because, I fancy, they -expect much water, having had it low all summer and fall. Some of them -are half as high as I am and must have cost tremendous labor in tearing -out the marsh roots and sods and collecting them thus in pyramidal form. -Their roads run hither and yon across the bog and are so well travelled -that the travellers must be numerous as well as active. They have laid -in a store of lily roots and sweet-flag for the winter, and their -underwater entrances lead upward to quarters that are dry and snug. -Here they are as secure from frost as was the white grub that I hewed -from his pith hall in the goldenrod stem. When the ice is thick all -about, their house will be as hard of outside wall as if built of black -adamant yet their water-entrance will be free, beneath the ice, and they -will go to and fro by it, seeking supplies or perhaps making friendly -calls. - -All the morning the marsh grass billowed and the water sparkled, one to -another, about their houses, and if you listened to the grass you might -hear its fine little sibilant song, a soft susurrus of words whose only -consonant is s, set to a sleepy swing. It is a song that seems to -harmonize with the fine tan tones of the bog as they fade into silvery -white where the sun reflects from smooth spears. Over on the distant -hillside the pines, navy blue under cloud shadows, hummed in the wind -like bassoons; distant and muted cornets sang clear in the maples, and -all about the feathery heads of the olive swamp cedars you caught the -faint shrilling of fifes if you would but listen intently. Now and then -the glocken-spiel tinkled in mellow yellow notes among the dry reeds on -the marge, but these echoed but familiar runes. The tan-white bog grass -that is so wild it never heard the swish of scythe, sang, soft and -sibilant, an elfin song of the lonely and untamed. - -With the singing of the wind into the tender spring of the south side -the day grew cold with clouds. The sky was no longer softly blue, but -gray and chilling, the pond lost its sparkle and grew purple and numb -with cold, and all among the bare limbs you heard the song of the -promise of snow. But the clouds stopped at a definite line in the west -and at setting the sun dropped below this and sent a golden flood -rolling through the trees that mark the boundary between field and pond, -lighting up all the bog with glory and gilding the muskrat teepees and -the tall bog grass and the distant trees across the water till all the -sere and withered leaves were bathed in serenity, as softly and serenely -bright as if the golden age had come to us all. In this wise the crystal -day, with its sheltered exultation of spring and its gray promise of -winter’s snow all fused into one golden delight of sunset glory, marched -on over the western hills trailing paths of gilded shadow behind it -along which one walked the homeward way as if into the perfect day. - - - - - -CERTAIN WHITE-FACED HORNETS - - -The lonesomest spot in all the pasture, the one which the winter has -made most vacant of all, is the corner where hangs the great gray nest -of the white-faced hornets. Its door stands hospitably open but it is no -longer thronged with burly burghers roaring to and fro on business that -cannot wait. It was wide enough for half a dozen to go and come at the -same time, yet they used to jostle one another continually in this -entrance, so great was the throng of workers and so vigorous the energy -that burbled within them. While the warm sun of an August day shines a -white-faced hornet is as full of pent forces, striving continually to -burst him, as a steam fire-engine is when the city is going up in flame -and smoke and the fire chief is shouting orders through the megaphone -and the engineer is jumping her for the honor of the department and the -safety of the community. He burbles and bumps and buzzes and bursts, -almost, in just the same way. - -It is no wonder that people misunderstand such roaring energy, driving -home sometimes too fine a point, and speak of _Vespa maculata_ and his -near of kin the yellow jackets, and even the polite and retiring common -black wasp, with dislike. In this the genial Ettrick Shepherd, high -priest of the good will of the open world, does him, I think, much -wrong. “O’ a’ God’s creatures the wasp,” he says, “is the only one that -is eternally out of temper. There’s nae sic thing as pleasing him.” - -This opinion is so universal that there is little use in trying to -controvert it, and yet these white-faced hornets which I have known, if -not closely, at least on terms of neighborliness, do not seem to merit -this opprobrium. That they are hasty I do not deny. They certainly brook -no interference with their right to a home and the bringing up of the -family. But I do not call that a sign of ill temper; I think it is -patriotism. - -Probably the trouble with most of us is that we have happened to come -into quite literal contact with white-face after the fashion of one of -the early explorers of the country about Massachusetts Bay. Obadiah -Turner, the English explorer and journalist, thus chronicles the -adventure in the quaint phraseology of the year 1629. - -“Ye godlie and prudent captain of ye occasion did, for a time, sit on -ye stumpe in pleasante moode. Presentlie all were hurried together in -great alarum to witness ye strange doing of ye goode olde man. Uttering -a lustie screme he bounded from ye stumpe and they, coming upp, did -descrie him jumping aboute in ye oddest manner. And he did lykwise puff -and blow his mouthe and roll uppe his eyes in ye most distressful waye. - -“All were greatlie moved and did loudlie beg of him to advertise them -whereof he was afflicted in so sore a manner, and presentlie, he -pointing to his foreheade, they did spy there a small red spot and -swelling. Then did they begin to think yt what had happened to him was -this, yt some pestigeous scorpion or flying devil had bitten him. -Presentlie ye paine much abating he saide yt as he sat on ye stumpe he -did spye upon ye branch of a tree what to him seemed a large fruite, ye -like of wch he had never before seen, being much in size and shape like -ye heade of a man, and having a gray rinde, wch as he deemed, betokened -ripenesse. There being so manie new and luscious fruites discovered in -this fayer lande none coulde know ye whole of them. And, he said, his -eyes did much rejoice at ye sight. - -“Seizing a stone he hurled ye same thereat, thinking to bring yt to ye -grounde. But not taking faire aime he onlie hit ye branch whereon hung -ye fruit. Ye jarr was not enow to shake down ye same but there issued -from yt, as from a nest, divers little winged scorpions, mch in size -like ye large fenn flies on ye marshe landes of olde England. And one of -them, bounding against hys forehead did give in an instant a most -terrible stinge, whereof came ye horrible paine and agonie of wch he -cried out.” - -Let go on the even tenor of his home-building and home-keeping way, -white-face is another creature. One of his kind used to make trips to -and from my tent all one summer, and we got to be good neighbors. At -first I viewed him with distrust and was inclined to do him harm, but he -dodged my blow and without deigning to notice it landed plump on a -house-fly that was rubbing his forelegs together in congratulatory -manner on the tent roof. He had been mingling with germs of superior -standing, without doubt, this house-fly, but his happiness over the -success of the event was of brief duration. There came from his wings -just one tenuous screech of alarm followed by an ominous silence of as -brief duration. Then came the deep roar of the hornet’s propellers as -he rounded the curve through the tent door and gave her full-speed ahead -on the home road. An hour later he was with me again, had captured -another fly almost immediately, and was off. He came again, many times a -day, and day after day, till I began to know him well and follow his -flights with the interest of an old friend. - -He never bothered me or anyone else. He had no time for men; the capture -of house-flies was his vocation and it demanded all his energy and -attention. In fact that he might succeed it was necessary that he should -put his whole soul into earnest endeavor, for he was not particularly -well equipped for his work. He had neither speed nor agility as compared -with his quarry, and if house-flies can hear and know what is after -them, the roar of his machinery, even at slowest speed, must have given -them ample warning. It was like a freighter seeking to capture torpedo -boats. They could turn in a circle of a third the radius of his and -could fly three miles to his one, yet he was never a minute in getting -one. - -I think they simply took him for an enlarged edition of their own kind -and never knew the difference until his mandibles gripped them. He used -to go bumbling and butting about the tent in a near-sighted excitement -that was humorous to the onlooker. He didn’t know a fly from a hole in -the tentpole, and there was a tack in the ridgepole whose head he -captured in exultation and let go in a sort of slow wonder every time he -came in. He got to know me as part of the scenery and didn’t mind -lighting on top of my head in his quest, and he never thought of -stinging me. I timed his visits one sunny, still day and found that he -arrived once in forty seconds. But this was only under most favorable -weather conditions. A cloud over the sun delayed him and in wet weather -he was never to be seen. - -His method with the fly in hand was direct and effective. The first buzz -was followed by the snip-snip of his shear-like maxillaries. You could -hear the sound and immediately see the gauzy wings flutter slowly to the -tent floor. If the fly kicked much his legs went in the same way. Then -white-face took a firmer grip on his prize and was off with him to the -nest. The bee line is spoken of as a model of mathematical directness, -but the laden bee seeking the hive makes no straighter course than did -my hornet to his nest in the berry bush down in the pasture. - -Flies were plentiful and, knowing how many hornets there are in a nest, -I expected at first that he would bring companions and perhaps overwhelm -my hospitality with mere numbers, but he did nothing of the kind. I have -an idea that he was detailed to the fly catching work just as other -workers were busy gathering nectar and honey dew for the young and -others still were nest and comb building. Later in the summer another -did come, but I am convinced that he happened on the other’s game -preserve by accident and was not invited. The two between them must have -captured thousands of flies and carried them off alive to their nest. - -Thus their paper fort, hung from the twigs of a blueberry bush, had by -September grown to the dimensions of a water-bucket and contained a -prodigious - -[Illustration: Their paper fort had by September grown to the dimensions of a -water-bucket and contained a prodigious swarm of valiant fighters] - -swarm of valiant fighters and mighty laborers, so much will persistent -labor, even by near-sighted, dunder-headed hornets, accomplish. I say -near-sighted, for the two specimens of _Vespa maculata_ who used to hunt -flies in my tent were certainly that. I say also dunder-headed, for if -not that they would have learned eventually the location of that tack -head and ceased to capture it. Barring these failings, no doubt -congenital, I know of no pasture people who show greater virtues or more -of them than the white-faced hornets. - -The weak beginnings of their great community home in the berry bush were -made in early May when a single lean and hungry queen mother crept from -a crevice in the heart of a great hollow chestnut where she had survived -the winter. She sunned herself for a time at the opening, then began -eagerly chewing fibre from a gray and bare dead limb near by. She chewed -this and when it was softened to a pulp she flew straight to the berry -bush and began her long summer’s work. Laboring patiently she made and -brought enough of the paper pulp moistened with her own saliva to form a -nest half the size of an egg containing just a few cells in a single -comb that was horizontal and opened downward. In these she laid an egg -each, worker’s eggs. - -Always the first brood is of workers only, and it would seem that the -mother hornet is able by some strange necromancy to lay an egg which -shall produce, as she wills, a worker, a drone or another queen, for the -hornet hive, like that of the honey-bee, has the three varieties. While -these eggs hatch she completes the nest and then begins feeding the -funny little white maggots which hang head down in the cells, stuck to -the top by a sort of glue which was deposited with the egg. - -Honey and pollen is the food which the youngsters receive, varied as -they grow up with a meat hash of insects caught by the mother and chewed -fine. Soon they fill the cells, stop eating, and spin for themselves a -sort of silk night shirt and a cap with which they close the mouth of -the cell. Here they remain quiet for a few days, changing from grub to -winged creature as does a butterfly during the chrysalis stage of its -existence. - -Those were busy days for the queen mother, for she had the work and the -care of the whole wee hive on her hands, and she showed herself capable -not only of doing her own feminine part in the hive economy, but that of -half a dozen workers as well, making paper, doing construction work, -finding and bringing honey and pollen and insects for the food of the -young grubs, and finally helping them cut away the seals to the cells -and grasping the young hornets in her mandibles and hauling them out of -their comb. - -These young hornets washed their faces, cleaned their antennæ, ate one -more free meal and set to work. Thereafter the queen mother, having -reared her retinue, worked no more, but kept the hive and produced -worker eggs as new cells were provided for them, now and then perhaps -feeding the children when the workers were busiest. - -The first care of the new-born workers was to clean out the once used -cells and to build new ones. But there was no room for new comb within -the thin paper envelope which the mother had built as a first hive. -They therefore cut this away, chewing it to pulp again, and building new -cells with a larger covering all about them. Then below the first comb -they hung a second by paper columns so that there was space for them to -pass between the two, standing on top of one comb while they fed the -young hanging head down in the comb above. - -They also added cells to the sides of the old comb, making it much -wider. The first little round egg-shaped nest was all of one color, a -soft gray, but the new additions are apt to be lighter or darker in -color, according to the idiosyncrasies of the individual worker. Some -indeed have a faint touch of brown when newly added to the structure -though these soon fade, yet you may recognize always the dividing line -between one hornet’s work and another’s by the difference in shade. - -Thus the work went on during the summer, more cells being added to the -existing combs, new combs being hung below, and always the surrounding -envelope being cut away and replaced to accommodate the internal growth. -Late August saw the last additions made. The hive then roared with life. -The summer had been a good one and food was plentiful. Under the bounty -of fierce summer heat and ample food the workers had developed a new -faculty. - -I have given them the masculine pronoun in speaking of them, for they -certainly seemed to deserve it. Surely only males could be at once so -sharp and so blunt, so burly, so strenuous and so devoid of interest in -anything but their work. Yet it is a fact that in August some of the -workers began to lay eggs, and if the old proverb that “Like produces -like” holds good they still deserve the masculine pronoun, for these -eggs produced only males. - -At the same time the queen began to lay eggs which were destined to -produce other queens. How all this could have been known about -beforehand it is hard to tell, but such must have been the fact, for the -cells in which these eggs were to be laid were made larger than the -others as the greater size of males and females requires. - -Thus the climax of the work of the great paper hive was reached. The new -queens had been safely reared and had reached maturity when the first -chill days of autumn came. These days brought rain, and the change from -bustling life to silence was most startling. Almost in a day the hive -was deserted. It was as if the entire colony had swarmed, and so they -had, but not as a hive of bees swarms. They had left the old home never -to return, but not as a colony seeking a new land in which to prosper. -The first chill of autumn laid the cold hand of death on their busy -life. They went away as individuals and stopped, numbed with cold, -wherever the chill caught them. - -Where they went it is hard to say, but one hornet or a thousand crawling -into a crevice to escape the cold is easily lost in the great world of -out-of-doors. No worker survives the winter. I think the intensity of -their labors during the summer, the continued use of that energy that -bubbles within them all summer long, exhausts them and they succumb -easily, worked out. With the young queens it is different. Their work is -yet to come, and the strong young life within them gives them vitality -to endure the winter, though seemingly frozen stiff in their crevices. -Yet only a few of these come through in safety. If the queens of one -hive all built next year, the pasture would be a far too busy place for -mere man to visit. - -It is just as well as it is, yet I am glad that each year sees at least -one queen white-face pulp-making in the May sun. Pasture life without -her uproarious progeny would lack spice. The great gray nest is pathetic -in its emptiness, and I am glad to forget it and its bustling throng, -remembering only the one busy worker that used to come into the tent -and, having caught his fly, hang head downward from ridge-pole or -canvas-edge by one hind foot while all his other feet were busy holding -his lamb for the shearing. - - - - -THIN ICE - - -Toward midnight the pond fell asleep. All day long it had frolicked with -the boisterous north wind, pretending to frown and turn black in the -face when the cold shoulders of the gale bore down upon its surface, -dimpling as the pressure left it and sparkling in brilliant glee as the -low hung sun laughed across its ruffles. The wind went down with the -sun, as north winds often do, and left a clear mirror stretching from -shore to shore, and reflecting the cold yellow of the winter twilight. - -As this chill twilight iced into the frozen purple of dusk, tremulous -stars quivered into being out of the violet blackness of space. The -nebular hypothesis is born again in the heavens each still winter -night. It must have slipped thence into the mind of Kant as he stood in -the growing dusk of some German December watching the violet-gray frost -vapors of the frozen sky condense into the liquid radiance of early -starlight, then tremble again into the crystalline glints of unknown -suns whirling in majestic array through the full night along the myriad -miles of interstellar space. - -Standing on the water’s edge on such a night you realize that you are -the very centre of a vast scintillating universe, for the stars shine -with equal glory beneath your feet and above your head. The earth is -forgotten. It has become transparent, and where before sunset gray sand -lay beneath a half-inch of water at your toe-tips, you now gaze downward -through infinite space to the nadir, the unchartered, unfathomable -distance checked off every thousand million miles or so by unnamed -constellations that blur into a milky way beneath your feet. The pond is -very deep on still winter nights. - -If you will take canoe and glide out into the centre the illusion is -complete. There is no more earth nor do the waters under the earth -remain; you float in the void of space with the Pleiades for your -nearest neighbor and the pole star your only surety. In such situations -only can you feel the full loom of the universe. The molecular theory is -there stated with yourself as the one molecule at the centre of -incomputability. It is a relief to shatter all this with a stroke of the -paddle, shivering all the lower half of your incomputable universe into -a quivering chaos, and as the shore looms black and uncertain in the -bitter chill it is nevertheless good to see, for it is the homely earth -coming back to you. You have had your last canoe trip of the year, but -it has carried you far. - -No wonder that on such a night the pond, falling asleep for the long -winter, dreams. A little after midnight it stirred uneasily in its sleep -and a faint quiver ran across its surface. A laggard puff of the north -wind that, straggling, had itself fallen asleep in the pine wood and -waked again, was now hastening to catch up. The surface water had been -below the freezing point for some time and with the slight wakening the -dreams began to write themselves all along as if the little puff of wind -were a pencil that drew the unformulated thoughts in ice crystals. Water -lying absolutely still will often do this. Its temperature may go some -degrees below the freezing point and it will still be unchanged. Stir -it faintly and the ice crystals grow across it at the touch. - -Strange to tell, too, the pond’s dreams at first were not of the vast -universe that lay hollowed out beneath the sky and was repeated to the -eye in its clear depths. Its dreams were of earth and warmth, of -vaporous days and humid nights when never a frost chill touched its -surface the long year through, and the record the little wind wrote in -the ice crystals was of the growth of fern frond and palm and -prehistoric plant life that grew in tropic luxuriance in the days when -the pond was young. - -These first bold, free-hand sketches touched crystal to crystal and -joined, embossing a strange network of arabesques, plants drawn -faithfully, animals of the coal age sketched in and suggested only, -while all among the figures great and small was the plaided level of -open water. This solidified, dreamless, about and under the decorations, -and the pond was frozen in from shore to shore. Thus I found it the next -morning, level and black under one of those sunrises which seem to -shatter the great crystal of the still atmosphere into prisms. The cold -has been frozen out of the sky, and in its place remains some strange -vivific principle which is like an essence of immortality. - -New ice thus formed has a wonderful strength in proportion to its -thickness. It is by no means smooth, however. The embossing of the -reproductions of these pond dreams of fern and palm and plesiosaurus -makes hubbles under your steel as you glide over it, though little you -care for that on your first skate of the year. The embossing it is, I -think, that largely gives it its strength, and though it may crack and -sag beneath you as you strike out, you know that its black texture is -made up of interlacing crystals that slip by one another in the bending, -but take a new grip and hold until your weight fairly tears them apart. - -The small boy knows this instinctively and applies it as he successfully -runs “teetley-bendoes” to the amazement and terror of the uninitiated -grown-ups. If you have the heart of the small boy still, though with an -added hundred pounds in weight, you may yet dare as he does and add to -the exhilaration born of the wine-sweet air the spice of audacity. An -inch or so of transparent ice lies between you and a ducking among the -fishes which dart through the clear depths, fleeing before the under -water roar of your advance, for the cracks, starting beneath your feet -and flashing in rainbow progress before you and to the right and left, -send wild vibrations whooping and whanging through the ice all over the -pond. Now the visible bottom drops away beneath you to an opaqueness -that gives you a delicious little sudden gasp of fear, for you realize -the depth into which you might sink; again it rises to meet you and here -you may bear down and gain added impetus, for you know that the ice will -be thicker in shallow water. - -So you go on, and ever on. It is not wise to retrace your strokes, for -those ice crystals that gave to let you through and then gripped one -another again to hold you up may not withstand a second impact; nor is -it wise to stop. Mass and motion have given you momentum and you have -acquired some of the obscure stability of the gyroscope. You tend to -stay on your plane of motion, though the ice itself has strength to hold -only part of your weight. Thus the wild duck, threshing the air with -mighty strokes, glides over it, held up by the same obscure force. The -ice has no time to break and let you through. You are over it and onto -another bit of uncracked surface before it can let go. - -The day warmed a little with a clear sun but the frost that night bit -deep again and the next morning the ice had nearly doubled in thickness -and would not crack under any strain which my weight could put upon it. -A second freezing, even though both be thin, gives a stronger ice than a -single freezing of equal depth, just as the English bowmaker of the old -days used to glue together a strip of lancewood and a strip of yew, or -even two strips of the same wood, thus making a far stiffer bow than one -made of a single piece of equivalent dimensions. - -This ice was much smoother too. That evaporation which is steadily going -on from the surface of ice even in the coldest weather, the crystals -passing to vapor without the intervening stage of water, had worn off -the embossing. The ice instead of being black was gray with countless -air bubbles all through its texture. You will always find these after a -day’s clear sun on a first freezing. I fancy the ice crystals make -minute burning glasses under the sun’s rays and thus cause tiny meltings -within its own bulk, the steam of the fusing making the bubbles; or it -may be that the air with which the north wind of two days before had -been saturating the water was thus escaping from solution. - -It was midday of this second day of skating weather before I reached the -pond. The sky was overcast, the wind piped shrill again, and there were -snow-squalls about. The pond was empty and lone. I thought no living -creature there beside myself, and it was only at the second call of a -familiar voice that I believed I heard it. Then, indeed, I stopped and -listened up the wind. It came again, a wild and lonely whistle that was -half a shout, beginning on the fifth of the scale, sliding to the top of -the octave, and then to a third above, and I heard it with amazement. -The pond was firmly covered with young ice. Why should a loon be sitting -out on it and hooting to me? - -There was silence for a space while I looked in vain, for the first -flakes of a snow-squall were whitening the air and had made the distant -shore indistinct. Then it spoke again, almost confidentially, that still -lonely but more pleasing whinny, a sort of “Who-who-who-who” that is -like a tremulous question, weird laughter, or a note of pain as best -fits the mind of the listener. The voice came from the geographical -centre of the pond’s loneliness, the one point where a wild bird like -the loon, obliged to make a stand, would find himself farthest from all -frequented shores. I skated up the wind in that direction, but the snow -blew in my eyes and I could see but little. - -Suddenly right in front of me there was a wild yell of dismay, despair -and defiance all mingled in a single loon note, but so clearly expressed -that you could not fail to recognize them, then a quick splash, and I -had almost skated into a hole in the ice, perhaps some ten feet across. - -Then I knew what had happened. A loon, wing-tipped by some poor -marksman, had dropped into the pond before the freeze. He could dive and -swim, no doubt, as well as ever but could not leave the water. When the -pond began to freeze he did the only thing possible in his losing fight. -That was to seek the loneliest spot in the surface and keep an opening -in the ice when it began to form. I could see the fifteen-foot circle -which had been his haven for the first night and day. Then with the -second freezing night he had been obliged to shorten this. Two feet and -a half of new ice showed his inner line of defence rimmed accurately -within the greater circle and showing much splashing where he had, I -thought, breasted it desperately all the long night in his brave fight -to keep it open. - -How long without human intervention he might brave the elements and keep -his narrowing circle unfrozen would of course depend on the weather. If -it did not come on too severe he might live on there till his wing -healed and by a miracle win again to flight and safety. The cold would -not trouble him nor the icy water. The loon winters anywhere from -southern Massachusetts south and, strong and well, has no fear of -winter. But there entered into this the human equation. The next man -along would likely go home and get a shotgun. - -As I noted all this a head appeared above the water in the pool. There -was another shriek of alarm and it vanished in a flash and a splash. It -was forty seconds by my watch before the bird appeared again. This time -he rose almost fully to the surface and sounded a war cry, then dove -again and was under for seventy seconds. And so as long as I stood my -distance motionless he came and went, never above water for more than a -few seconds, varying in length of time that he stayed below from half a -minute to a minute and a quarter, and never going below without sounding -the eerie heartbreak of his call. - -Then I skated away to get my camera and was gone three-quarters of an -hour. Returning I saw him in the distance, for the snow had almost -passed. He saw me too and dived. Gliding up I knelt at the very edge of -the hole and was fixing the camera when he came up. He sat level on the -surface for a second, seemingly not noticing me. Then, warned by a -motion that I made in trying to adjust the focus, he sounded a wild and -plaintive call that seemed to have in it mingled fear and defiance, -heartbreak and triumph, and plunged beneath the surface with a vigor and -decision that sent him far beneath the ice, his great webbed feet -driving him with great jumps, as a frog swims. - -I saw him shoot away from the hole, trailing bubbles. I waited kneeling, -watch in hand and thumb on bulb, a minute, two minutes, three, five, -ten. The snow shut in again thick, the north wind sang a plaintive dirge -and I realized that the picture would never be taken. Instead I was -kneeling at the deathbed of a wild Northern spirit that perhaps -deliberately took that way of ending the unequal struggle. - -The loon knows not the land. Even his nest he builds on the water’s -edge and clambers awkwardly to it with wings and bill as well as feet. -The air and water are his home, the water far more than the air, and he -knows the underwater world as well as he does the surface. I shall never -know whether my loon went so far in his flight beneath the ice that he -failed to find his way back, or whether his strength gave out. Knowing -his untamed and fearless spirit I am inclined to believe that he -deliberately elected to die at home, in the cool depths that he loved -rather than come back to his poor refuge in the narrowing ice circle and -face that strange creature that knelt at the edge. - - - - -WINTER FERN-HUNTING - - -The spring of this, our new year of 1909, is set by the wise makers of -calendars to begin at the vernal equinox, say the twenty-first of March, -but the weatherwise know that on that date eastern Massachusetts is -still in the thrall of winter, and spring, as they see it, is not due -till a month later. - -Yet they are both wrong, and we need but go into the woods now to prove -it. The spring in fact is already here. The new life in which it is to -express itself in a thousand forms is already growing and much of it had -its beginning in late August or early September of last year. The wind -out of the north may retard it indeed, but it needs but a touch of the -south wind to start it in motion again, and the deep snows that are yet -to come and bury it so that the waves of arctic atmosphere that may roll -over its head for weeks will never be able to touch it are a help. - -Many a hardy little spring plant blooms first, not in April as we are -apt to think, but more likely in January, though it may be two feet deep -beneath the snow and ice and unseen by any living creature. To go no -farther than my own garden, I have known a late January thaw, rapidly -carrying off deep snow, to reveal the “ladies’ delights” in bloom -beneath an overarching crust of ice. The warm snow blankets had -effectually insulated the autumn grown buds from the zero temperature -two feet above, and the warmth of the earth beneath had not only passed -through the frost but melted a little cavern beneath the snow, and -there the hardy plants had responded to the impulse of the spring that -was already with them. - -In this wise the chickweed blooms the year round though rarely are -circumstances such that we note it in the winter months. Now and then -the hepatica opens shy blue eyes beneath the enfolding snow and it is -common in times of open weather in midwinter to read newspaper reports -of the blooming of dandelions in December, or January. These are just as -much in bloom on other winters but the snow covers them from sight and -it takes a thaw which sweeps the ground clear of snow to reveal them. - -It is good now and then to get a green Christmas such as we have just -had, for in it we may go forth into the fields and realize that the -spring has not retreated to the Bahamas, but merely to the subsoil, -whence it slips, full of warmth and thrill, on any sunshiny day. If we -will but seek the right places we need not search long to find April all -about us, though they may be cutting ten-inch ice on the pond and winter -overcoats be the prevailing wear. - -To-day I found young and thrifty plants, green and succulent, of two -varieties of fern that are not common in my neighborhood and that I had -never suspected in that location. I had passed them amid the universal -green of summer without noticing them, but now their color stood out -among the prevailing browns and grays as vividly as yellow blossoms do -in a June meadow. - -Yet I sought the greater ferns of my acquaintance in vain in many an -accustomed place. Down by the fountain head is a spot where the black -muck, cushioned with yielding sphagnum, slopes gently upward to firmer -ground beneath the maples till these give way to the birches on the -drier hillside. Here the ostrich fern waved its seven-foot fronds in -feathery beauty amid the musky twilight of the swamp all summer long. - -It was as if giants, playing battledore, had driven a hundred green -shuttlecocks to land in the woodcock-haunted shelter. The tangle of -their fronds was chin high and you smashed your way through their woody -stipes with difficulty, so strong and thick were they. Now they have -vanished and scarcely a trace of their presence remains. Brown and -brittle stalks rise a little from the earth here and there, and if you -search among fallen leaves you may find the ends of their rootstalks -with the growth for next year coiled in compact bundles there, ready to -unfold. - -From these rootstalks spring in all directions slender underground -runners whence will grow new plants. But none of this is visible. The -only reminder of that once luxurious thicket is the brittle, brown -stalks that still, here and there, protrude from the fallen leaves. - -It is difficult to see where they all went, but there is something -savoring of the supernatural about ferns, anyway. Shakspeare says: “We -have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible.” For men to use this -receipt the seed must be garnered on St. John’s eve in a white napkin -with such and such incantations properly recited. The _Struthiopteris -germanica_ had plenty of fern-seed on St. John’s eve. It must have used -the old-time incantations with success, for all the giant shuttlecocks -that thronged the swale with a close-set tangle of feathery green have -vanished. - -I sought another moist and shady woodland where all the early spring the -ground was a warm pinky brown with the fuzz of uncurling fiddle heads, -and later the brown, leaf-carpeted earth was hidden in a delicate lace -patterned of the young fronds of the cinnamon and the interrupted fern. -To this woodland came the yellow-warblers for the soft fuzz for use in -nest building, it compacting readily into a felt-like mass that is at -once yielding and durable. The cinnamon fern when it has reached any -size has an underground stump that is as woody and tough almost as that -of a tree. Its strong fronds are next to those of the ostrich-fern in -the woody vigor of their stipes. Surely these might have lasted. Yet -not one form of fern life was visible in this once thronged wood. Like -the ostrich ferns they had poured their own fern-seed on their heads and -whispered the correct incantation at the coming of the first chill wind. -I am inclined to think it all happened in a jiffy, when happen it did, -for I have been back and forth through that part of the wood all the -fall and I cannot recall the day on which they were first missing. It -seems as if I would have noticed their gradual crumbling and decay. - -The same is true of the clumps of _Osmunda regalis_ that grew here and -there along the pond shore. Rightly named “regalis” they stood in royal -beauty four or five feet tall and leaning over the water’s edge admired -the bipinnate grace of their fronds, while the tallest stalks bore aloft -the clusters of spore cases that looked like long spikes of plumed -flowers. No wonder the plant which is common to England also drew the -notice of Wordsworth, who refers to it as-- - - “that tall fern, - So stately, of the queen Osmunda named. - Plant lovelier in its own retired abode - On Grassmere beach than naiad by the side - Of Grecian brook.” - -Flowering fern it is rightly named, too, but it had flowered and gone, -and I found of all its regal beauty but a single stalk with brown -spore-cases held rigidly aloft among a tangle of brown leaves and bog -grass. - -Then I looked for the sensitive fern. This with its slender, creeping -rootstock sending up single fronds is less woody than any of the others -and I began to suspect that it would have disappeared utterly. So the -sterile fronds had. There was no trace of them in spots that in summer -were a perfect tangle. But this was not true of the fertile stalks. Here -and there these, like the one of the royal fern, stood erect and bore -their close-lipped spore cases, seal-brown and stiff, high above dead -leaves and other decay of fragile annuals. - -All this made a disheartening fern chase, and I turned to the steep side -of the hemlock-shaded northern hill, sure of one hardy variety that -would have no use for invisibility, however chill the north wind might -blow. No smile of direct sunlight ever touches this hill. It is set so -steep that only the mid-summer midday sun overtops its slant and this -the dense hemlock foliage shuts out. No woodland grasses grow in its -dense shadow and only here and there the partridge berry and the pyrola -creep down a little from the top of the ridge where some sunlight slips -in. Yet in its densest part the Christmas fern revels and throws up -fronds that seem to catch some of their dark beauty from the deep green -twilight of the place. In the spring these stand in varying degrees of -erectness, but autumn seems to bring a change in the cellular structure -of the lower part of the stipe and weaken it so that the fronds fall -flat upon the earth. They lose none of their firm texture or color, -however, and be the temperature ever so low or the snow ever so deep -they undergo no further change till the next spring fronds are well -under way. Sometimes even in mid-summer you may find the fronds of the -year before, somewhat fungi-encumbered and darkened with age, but still -green. - -No other fern grows in the denser portions of this hemlock twilight, -though the Christmas fern clings close to it, and does not spread to the -more open glades on other portions of the hill. Another northern hill of -similar steepness but shaded by an old growth of pines through which -certain sunlight filters during most of the day has specimens of the -_Polystichum acrostichoides_ growing only in its most sheltered nooks -from which they do not seem to spread even to the brighter spots near by -on the same declivity. Hence I infer that the plant prefers the -twilight, and does not thrive in even occasional sunlight. - -Just at the base of this second hill, however, where cool springs begin -to bubble forth in the mottled shadow, I caught a gleam of a lighter, -lovelier green that was like a dapple of sunlight on clumps of Christmas -ferns, and I came near passing it by for that. Then, because I had -never seen this fern growing in a dapple of sunlight, I went to it and -found that I had chanced upon a group of the spinulose wood fern. The -plumose fronds showed no more winter effects than did those of the -Christmas ferns. The keen frosts had not shrivelled them, nor was there -any hint of the brown that might come with the ripening of leaves or the -departure of sap. - -Like the other ferns they had suffered a failing of tissues near the -base of the stipe, but pinnules, midribs and rachis were as softly, -radiantly green as they had been under the full warmth of the summer -sun. Owing to this failure of tissues in the stipe they lay flat to the -ground, but they were still beautiful, perhaps more so than they had -been when they stood more erect in summer, and were obscured and hidden -by the other green things of the wood. I know I tramped within a few -feet of them again and again last summer without noticing them, yet -to-day they caught my eye a long way off, and held it in admiration even -after a long and close inspection. - -Farther down in the very swamp, laid flat along the sphagnum and -oftentimes frozen to it, were fronds of the crested shield-fern and the -patches of these tolled me far from my find and it was only on coming -back for another look that I discovered the prettiest thing about it. -That was, near by and half sheltered by tips of the elder fronds, young -plants of the same variety, just advancing from the prothallus stage and -having one or two miniature fronds like those of the parent plant but -not more than two or three inches long. - -These looked so tiny as compared with the mature ferns, but were so -erect and confident, so fresh and green and very much alive though the -temperature about them night after night had been far below freezing and -their roots then stood in ice, that it was worth a journey, just to look -at them. How their tender tissues had stood the temperature of ten above -zero that had surrounded them a few nights before is more than I can -answer. The faintest touch of frost kills the fronds of the great -seemingly tough cinnamon and ostrich ferns. Yet these dainty little -plants of _Nephrodium spinulosum_ with their miniature fronds of tender -lacework had not even wilted or cowered before deep and continued cold -as had the stalks of their elders of the same species, but stood erect, -nonchalant and seemingly eagerly growing still. - -We may say if we will that it is all a part of that magic of youth that -makes a million miracles each spring but that does not explain it. Why -should these be so strong and full of life when the fronds of the -hay-scented fern, for instance, have been shrivelled to dry and -crumbling brown fragments under the same conditions? I cannot answer -this either. - -Last of all I thought of the polypodys that grow in the rock crevices -all down along the glen, and went to see how they fared. It has been a -hard year for these little fellows. There must have been weeks at a time -during the scorching days of the long summer’s drought that their roots, -clinging precariously in rock crevices and dependent for moisture wholly -on rain and dew, were dry to the tips. The very heat of the rock itself -under the blister of the sun would not only evaporate all moisture, but -would so remain in the rock all night as to prevent any dew from -condensing on it. - -I had seen the polypodys at midday curled up on themselves seemingly -nothing but dried tissues that could never be again infused with the -breath of green life. Yet, let there come but the briefest of showers -and you would see them uncurl, lift their fronds to the breeze, and go -on as cheerily as their lower level neighbors the lady-ferns whose -pinnules flashed in the drip of the splashing stream and whose roots -bathed in the shallows. - -The summer must have weakened them. Were they the sort to shrivel at the -touch of the freezing wind and vanish into the fern-seed magic of -invisibility? Not they. The slender crevice of black dirt in which their -roots grow was black adamant with frost, but the polypodys swayed in -the biting wind as jauntily as they had in the soft airs of summer and -were as green and unharmed by the winter thus far as the Christmas ferns -had been. - -While I gazed at them, admiring their toughness and courage, my eye -caught a bit of greenery on the rock high above and I had found the -second unexpected fern of my winter day’s hunt, for there from a crevice -dripped the rounded, finely crenate, dark green pinnæ of _Asplenium -trichomanes_, the maidenhair spleenwort. - -Many a day during the summer had I sat on that ledge, listening to the -prattle of the brook down the glen and watching the demoiselle flies -flit coquettishly up and down stream while the dragonflies with -masculine directness darted hither and thither. The polypodys must have -often dropped their fern-seed on my head, but the magic that they -invoked with it must have been of the sort that made not me, but the -little fern above invisible, for it remained for this winter day of a -green Christmas week to show me its fragile beauty still green and -undisturbed in the winter weather. No other evidence was needed, nor -could I have any so good, to prove that spring is indeed here before the -winter comes, and though the cold and snow may retard they cannot -prevent it from reaching the full beauty and climax of maturity. - - - - -THE BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER - - -Toward morning the south rain, whose downpour was the climax of the -January thaw, ceased, and in the warm silence that followed Great Blue -Hill seemed like a gigantic puffball growing out of the moist twilight -into the dryer upper atmosphere of dawn. Standing on its rounded dome -you had a singular sense of being swung with it upward and eastward to -meet the light. At such times the whirling of the earth on its axis is -so very real that one wonders that the ancients did not discover it long -before they did. Surely their mountaineers must have known. - -After a little the battlemented donjon of the observatory looms clear -and you begin to notice other details of the gray earth beneath your -feet. The south wind has brought and left with you for a brief space the -atmosphere of the Bermudas, and you need only the joyous hubbub of bird -songs to think it June instead of January. Instead there is a breathless -silence that is like resignation and a portent all in one. Breathing -this soft air in the golden glow of daybreak it seems as if there could -never be such things as zero temperature and northwest gales; but the -whole top of the hill keeps silence. It knows. - -As the day grows brighter you can see the little scrub-oaks that make -the summit plateau their home crouch and settle themselves together for -the endurance test which is their winter lot. They have opened their -hearts to the south rain while it lasted, but they know what to expect -the moment it is gone. They studied the weather from Blue Hill summit -long before the observatory was thought of. - -All trees love the hill, but few can endure its winter rigors. You can -see where the hickories and red cedars have swarmed up the steep from -all sides, and as you note how the scrub-oaks compact themselves you -will see also the cedars holding the rim of rock as did that thin red -line of Scottish Highlanders at Inkermann, all dwarfed and crippled with -the struggle till they seem far different trees from the debonair slim -and sprightly red cedars of the alluvial plain. You can fairly see them -clench their teeth and hang on. - -Yet they love the rocks that they have gripped for some hundreds of -years, and nothing but death will part them. There are red cedars -growing out of the gray granite near the southern rim of Blue Hill that -I believe were there when Bartholomew Gosnold stepped ashore, the first -Englishman to set foot on the soil of Massachusetts. No such age belongs -to the hickories that have managed to get head and shoulders above the -rim of the plateau, yet they too have lost their slender straightness. -The cold and the summit winds have pressed them back upon themselves -till they are stubby, big-headed dwarfs. - -Of how the other trees climb the hill we shall learn more if we begin at -the bottom, and we could have no better day in which to look them up -than this, for the south rain has swept the ground bare of all snow and -left us for a space this temperature of the Carolinas rather than that -of Labrador, which is our usual portion in January. Indeed, from the -sunny plain which stretches from the southern base of the rock declivity -you can see where even tender and jocund plants once began the climb -most jauntily. - -Stalwart yellow gerardias, six feet tall some of them, grow in the rich -black mould that makes steps upward through the rock jumble. From August -till the frost caught them they scattered sunshine all along beneath the -hickories and chestnuts, maples and white oaks, tipping it out of golden -bowls to be shattered into the mists of goldenrod blooms that followed -after. These gerardias, though dry and dead, stand now, and will stand -despite gales and snow all winter long, boldly lifting brown seed pods -aloft, pods that grin in the teeth of bitter gales and send their chaffy -seeds floating up the slope to plant the sunshine banner a little -farther aloft for next year. Many centuries they have been at it, but -few of them have climbed far, yet they so love the hill that they cling -tenaciously to the ground they have gained and seem to grow more -vigorously there than on less rugged soil. - -The roughest ledges of the hill jut boldly to the southward, showing -gray granite shoulders to the sun and making this side almost a sheer -rock precipice. Yet here the Highlander cedars have chosen to make their -climb in battalions, plaiding the gray surface with russet brown and -olive green, clinging tenaciously by toe-tips where it would seem as if -only air-plants might find nourishment. No other trees dare the bare -granite steep, though hickories flank the cedars wherever the slopes of -the ridge have crumbled a little and given a better foothold of black -soil. - -Strange to say, the purple wood-grass that surely loves sandy plains -best has sent little scouting parties up with the hickories, and here -and there occupies tiny plateaus among the ledges well up toward the -ridge, often rimmed round with the purplish green of the mountain -cranberry. At the bottom of the gullies the maples began the climb, but -they did not last long. Red and white oaks have won farther up, but -stopped invariably before the summit of the gully was reached. - -From the beautiful Eliot Memorial Bridge, near the eastern limits of the -summit plateau of Blue Hill, you catch a wonderful glimpse southeasterly -right down a narrow ravine to a wider valley, and thence down again to a -glow of white ice which is Houghton’s Pond. The bare trees no longer -hide one another and you see where they made a flank movement in force -for the summit, swarming over the wider upland valley, and narrowing to -a wild charge of great chestnuts up the gully. These chestnuts do not -seem to stand rooted. They sway this way and that and seem to hurrah and -wave flags in the wild excitement of a desperate and hopeful venture. -They are motionless, of course, but they have all the semblance of -splendid action that genius has given to sculpture, and they add romance -to the most picturesque spot on the range. Yet never a chestnut top is -lifted above the ridge which tops the gully. To it they came in all the -fine enthusiasm of a well-planned and concerted advance, but stopped so -suddenly that you see them in splendid action still, as if with one -foot in the air for the step that should take them above the ridge. - -The north wind of the ages has stopped them right there where their tops -are just far enough above the level of the ridge edge to be safe from -it. You see them best by climbing down the little gully among evergreen -wood ferns which grow in the rich, moist soil among the rocks, the only -touches of green unless you happen upon some polypodys seemingly growing -out of the rock itself. - -Right among the chestnuts the semblance changes again with the -harlequin-like magic of the woods. The big trees are no longer fixed in -the attitude of desperate charge upon a rampart, as you saw them from -above. Among them they seem to be tipsy bacchanals who have chosen the -little secluded glen for a place of revelry, and are reeling about it -like clumsy woodsmen in a big-footed dance. A chestnut tree standing by -itself on a plain is as stately and dignified as a village patriarch. -Grouped together in level, rich woodland, chestnuts are prim and almost -lady-like. Why these particular trees in the little glen at the east -side of Blue Hill summit should skip about in clumsy riot is more than I -can tell, but they certainly seem to do it, and I am not the only one -who has seen it and been shocked by it. - -Right near by is a company of schoolgirl beeches, very straight and slim -and fair-skinned and pale. These have drawn together in a shivering -group and show every symptom of feminine dignity, very young and quite -outraged. They whisper and draw themselves up to the full tenuity of -their height and you can hear the dry snip of indignation in their -voices long before you reach them. No doubt they thought to have the -glen all to themselves for a proper picnic with prunes and pickles, and -here are these great fellows thus misbehaving! It is a shame and the -park police should put a stop to it. The beeches are so frosty in their -indignant withdrawal that the icy whispering of their dry leaves sounds -like fast falling sleet. Slip among them when you are next on the hill, -shut your eyes and listen. The day may be as sunny and warm as a winter -day can be, but you will think you hear the snow falling fast and will -be sorry you have not brought your fur muffler. - -As for the chestnuts, I suspect they drank mountain dew at the illicit -still just below the gully. Surely no springs should have a license to -do business among the hilltops of this granite range. Yet they well up -freely among the lesser spurs that lie between Great Blue and Hancock, -and their moisture, drawn from cool depths to little ponds where the -southern sun shines in and the north and west winds are held back by -granite ridges, make rallying places for all kinds of wood and pasture -people that have yearned for mountain heights, but could not stand the -rigors of the summits. There are three of these little ponds on the -heights of the range almost within a stone’s throw of one another. It -may be that the seepage from surrounding ledges accounts for their flow -of water, but I am more inclined to think that cracks in the backbone of -the hills let the water flow up from subterranean depths. The margins of -two of them are the happy home of greenbrier which grows in tropical -luxuriance all about, so binding the bushes together with its spiny -twine that it is almost impossible to pass through them to the water. -Button-ball and high-bush blueberry grow with it and hold out their -branches for its smilax-like decoration, and the solemn and secretive -witch-hazel stalks meditatively about wherever the overhead foliage is -dense enough to make the mysterious twilight that it best loves. It -strolls up the gully beneath the shade of the chestnuts and you can but -fancy it smiling sardonically at their revelry and the prim indignation -of the schoolgirl beeches. Here and there swamp maples, strangely out of -place on hilltops, glow gray in the dusk as you stand below them, or -blush red in the clear sun as you look at their branch tips from the -cliffs. It is a picturesque little three-spurred peak lying here between -Great Blue and Hancock so sheltered and warm in the midday sun that it -is only by watching the sky that you know it is winter, though the ice -is white and strong on the little ponds. - -I think you can get the best view of all of Great Blue Hill from the -summit of the lesser hill beyond the spurs and ponds and south of -Hancock, just overhanging Houghton’s Pond. There you see the forest-clad -slope sweep grandly up to form this broad upland valley, wrinkle a bit -with the folds where lie the three little ponds, then rise again most -majestically all along the steep side of the hill. At this time of year -it is one broad, majestic mass of the warm gray of bare tree trunks in -which rock ridges stand indistinct in purer color, while here and there -clustering twig masses purple it. You can see the black shadows in the -face of the cliff where stands the little glen in which the chestnuts -disport, and down near the highest of the three ponds is a beautiful -little splash of white all flushed with pink. This marks the location of -a group of young birches, the only ones I find on the heights of the -range. - -Midday had passed and with it the genial warmth that the south wind had -brought us. Instead romping northern breezes had a tang in them and torn -clouds sailed swiftly into view over the summit of Great Blue, rushing -deep blue shadows across the warm grays of the landscape. The age-old -battle of sun and wind was going on on every summit of the range. -Climbing the southerly slope of Hancock it was hard to believe it -winter. You got either season on the summit plateau according to the -nook you chose, but standing on the rim of the precipice, which faces -north you had no doubts. From your feet to the foot of the hill in this -direction it was winter indeed. Yet here was the greenest spot in the -whole range. Scrambling perilously down the face of the cliff I touched -rich green vegetation with either hand and stood amid luxuriance at the -bottom. For here you are at the meeting place of ferns. - -Little sunshine reaches the face of this cliff in the high noon of a -midsummer day. No direct ray touches it all winter long, yet in the -chill twilight the polypodys swarm all along the summit of the ridge and -drip and dance down and stretch out their hands to neighbor ferns that -climb cheerily to meet them out of the moist shadows below. These are -the evergreen wood ferns. In the rich black frozen earth of the lower -woodland they grow in profusion. On the rocky acclivity they hold each -coign of vantage and splash the plaid of gray rock and brown leaves -with their rich green. Where cliff meets rock jumble the two draw -together and fraternize, and the polypodys come farther off the cliff -than I have often seen them, and the wood ferns grow in slenderer -crevices of the bare rock than anywhere else that I know. - -The sun was gone from all the little ravines on the way back from -Hancock to Great Blue, and the chill of the fern-festooned shadow of the -cliff that I had just left seemed to go with me all along. It was -especially dark and chill in the little gully and I reached the summit -of the big hill too late to find the sun. There, where daybreak had -breathed of spring, nightfall shivered in the bite of winter winds. A -million electric glints splintered the purple dusk to northward, but -there was no warmth in them even when they fused into the glow of the -great city. With the shadow of night the cruel grip of winter had shut -down on the hilltop and I knew again, as I had known in the golden glow -of the morning, that it was midwinter. The dwarfed and storm-toughened -shrubs seemed to crouch a little closer to the adamantine earth, and -their frost-stiffened twigs sang in the bitter north wind. I felt the -chill in my own marrow and eagerly tramped the ringing granite toward -home. - - - - -SOME JANUARY BIRDS - - -It seems to be our lot this winter to have April continually smiling up -in the face of January. Again and again the north wind has come down -upon us and set his adamantine face against all such folly. The turf has -become flint; the ice has been eight inches thick on pond and placid -stream, and the very next morning, maybe, the soft air has breathed of -spring, and bluebirds have twittered deprecatingly as if glad to be -here, but altogether ashamed to be found so out of season. As a matter -of fact, of course, some bluebirds winter with us, but they don’t warble -“cheerily O” in the teeth of the north winds. On those days you must -seek them in the cuddly seclusion of dense evergreens, more than likely -among close-set cedars where the blue cedar-berries are still sweet and -plenty. But we have had many days in this January of 1909 when the -bluebirds have had a right to feel called to at least take a hurried -glimpse at the bird boxes or the holes in the old apple trees, just as -people take a flying trip to the summer cottage on a warm Sunday; they -know they can’t stay, but it is delightful to just look it over and -plan. - -I think the crows, though they are tough old winter residents, have -something of the same impulse to plan nests and make eyes and cooing -conversation, one to another. To-day I heard, in the pine treetops of a -little pasture wood where several pair nest every year, the unmistakable -note. In that great song of Solomon which the whole out-door world will -chorus in the full tide of spring the crows have the bass part, no -doubt, but they sing it none the less musically. It is surprising what a -croak can become, between lovers. - -I saw them slip away silently and shamefacedly as I approached, and I -knew them for callow youngsters, high-school age, let us say, to whom -shy love-making is never quite out of season. But they got their -come-uppance the moment they sailed out of the grove, for their -appearance was greeted with a wild and raucous chorus of crow -ha-ha-ha’s. High in the air, flapping round and round in silence above -the pines, a half dozen riotous youngsters of their own age had been -observing them, chuckling no doubt and winking to one another, and now -that the culprits were driven out into the open where all could see -them the chorus of jeers knew no bounds. It was as unmistakable as the -caressing tone, this jeering laughter. You had but to hear it to know -very well what they were saying. The crow language has but one word, -which in type is caw. But their inflections and tone qualities are such -that it is easy to make it express the whole diatonic scale of primitive -emotion. - -Many of our summer birds whose winter range barely includes us seem to -be more than usually prevalent this winter. It may be that the mild -season has to do with this, but it is equally probable that a plenitude -of food is more directly responsible. Seed-eating birds are particularly -in luck this year. I do not know of a winter when the birch trees have -fruited so plentifully, nor have I noticed so many flocks of song -sparrows as this year. I find them twittering happily along through the -wood, hanging in quite unsparrow-like attitudes from slender birch -twigs, busy robbing the pendant cones of their tiny seeds. In the summer -you know the song sparrow as a very erect bird. He sits on some topmost -twig of cedar or berry bush and pours forth quite the cheeriest and -sweetest home song of the pasture land. Or perchance he flies, and the -usual short and oft-repeated refrain seems to be broken up by flutter of -his wings into a longer, softer, and more varied song that has less of -challenge and more of sweet content in it. In his winter notes, which -are really nothing but a cheery twittering, I always think I hear -something of the mellow singing quality of this song of the wing. - -To-day I saw a sharp-shinned hawk, hunting noiselessly, no doubt for -these same sparrows. He flitted among the treetops like a nervous flash -of slaty gray, and was gone so quickly that had I not heard the welt of -his wing tips on the resisting air as he turned a sharp corner I should -never have seen him. Most of our hawks, though well known to take an -occasional chicken, are mouse and grasshopper eaters. The sharp-shinned -is the real chicken hawk, for he eats more birds than anything else, -though the small songsters of the thicket form the greater part of his -diet. I have rarely seen him here in winter, though his summer nest is -common in the deep woods, with its cream-buff eggs heavily blotched with -chocolate brown. Just as the plenitude of food of their kind kept the -song sparrows with us to enjoy the mild weather, so I think the -multitude of song sparrows and other succulent titbits made the -sharp-shinned hawk willing to winter where he had summered. - -All these birds which are wintering as far north as they dare seem to -come out and cheer up in the April-like days, but in those which are -distinctly January you may tramp the woods for days and not see one of -them. The flicker is a rather common bird with us the winter through. In -a warm January rain you will often surprise him wandering about in the -thawed fields, looking for iced crickets and half concealed grubs and -chrysalids among the stubble. Let the snow come deep and the wind blow -out of the north and the flicker vanishes from the landscape. It is as -if he had gone into a hole and pulled his thirty-six nicknames in after -him, so completely has the flicker disappeared. He is a strong-winged -bird and I have always been willing to think that at such times he -simply whirled aloft on the northerly gale and never lighted till he was -a few hundred miles to the south. He could do it easily enough. He would -find bare ground and good feeding in the tidewater country of Virginia -when New England is three feet under snow and the zero gales are -drifting it deeper and freezing the heart out of the very trees in the -wood. - -The other day, though, I caught one of them sitting in the hollow of an -ancient apple tree. There was an opening of some size facing the south -into which the midday sun shone with refreshing warmth. Here, sheltered -from the bite of the north wind the flicker had tucked himself away and -was enjoying his sunny nook much as pigeons do in just the right angle -of the city cornices. But he was better off than the pigeons for there -were fat grubs in the decaying wood that formed his shelter and he could -use his meal ticket without leaving his lodgings. Our woods are full of -such hostelries and they shelter more of the woodland creatures than we -know as we tramp carelessly by. - -But if the bluebirds and flickers hide themselves securely through the -coldest winter days and the song sparrows and even the crows are apt to -be scarce and subdued, as is certainly the case in my woods, there are -other feathered folk who seem to delight in the cold and be never so gay -as when the sky is leaden, the wind bites, and the frost flakes of snow -squalls let the sun struggle through the upper atmosphere because it is -too bitter cold to really snow. Of these the chickadees lead. They seem -to be never so merry as when they hear the sweet music of the tinkle of -cold-tense snow crystals on the bare twigs. - -In spite of the soft raiment in which the weather garbs itself to-day it -is only three days ago that the great organ of the woods piped to the -northerly wind as it breathed pedal notes through the pines and piped -shrill in the chestnut twigs. And there was more than organ music. The -white and red oaks, still holding fast to their brown leaves, gave forth -the rattling of a million delicate castanets, and the wind drew like a -soft bow across the finer strings of the birches so that all among -slender twigs you heard this fine tone of a muted violin singing a -little tender song of joy. For the trees were sadly weary of being -frozen one day and thawed the next. They thought the real winter was at -hand when the cold would - -[Illustration: There are other feathered folk who seem to delight in the -cold] - -be continuous and the snow deep. All we northern-bred folk love the real -winter and feel defrauded of our birthright if we do not get it. - -Strangest of all were the beeches. They have held the lower of their -tan-pale leaves and with them have whispered of snow all winter long. -Whatever the day, you had but to stand among them with closed eyes and -you could hear the beech word for snow going tick, tick, tick, all -about. It seemed as if flakes must be falling and hitting the leaves so -plainly they spoke it. Now that the flakes were beginning the beeches -never said a word, but just stood mute and watched it come and listened -to the music of all the other trees. Or perhaps they listened to -something finer yet. It was only in their enchanted silence that I -thought I heard it. Now and then the wind held its breath and the oak -leaf castanets ceased, and then for a second I would be sure of it; an -elfin tinkle so crepuscular, so gossamer fine that it was less a sound -than a thought, the ringing of snow crystal on snow crystal as the -feathery flakes touched and separated in the frost-keen air. It surely -was there and the beech trees heard it and stood breathless in solemn -joy at the sound. - -The chickadees were very happy that day. Little groups of half a dozen -flipped gaily from tree to tree, bustling awkwardly and jovially about -picking up food continually, though it is rarely possible to see what -they get as they glean from limb to limb. Winter is the time for -sociability, say the chickadees, and they welcome to their number the -red-breasted nuthatches that have followed the season down from the -Maine woods. The chickadee in his cheery endeavors to take his own in -the way of food where he finds it does some surprising acrobatic feats, -but they are almost always clumsy and you expect him momentarily to -break his neck. Not so the nuthatch. He runs along the under side of a -limb with his back to the ground as easily as he would run along the -upper side. He comes down the smooth trunk of a pine head down, just as -a squirrel does, his feet seeming to be reversible and to stick like -clamps wherever he cares to put them. All the time his busy little head -is poking here and there with sinuous agility and his slim, pointed bill -is gathering in the same invisible food, no doubt, that the chickadee is -after. And as he eats he talks, a quaint high-pitched, nasal drawl of -yna, yna, yna, that gets on your nerves after a while and you are glad -to see him let go his upside-down hold, turn a flip-flap in the air, -and light on another tree some distance away. I think Stockton got his -idea of negative gravity from watching the nuthatches. If I were mean -enough to shoot one I should as soon expect to see him fall up into the -sky as down to the earth, so usually regardless and defiant is he toward -the proper and accepted force of gravity. - -Quite prim and upright as compared with these shifty wrigglers is the -third boon companion of these winter day expeditions, the downy -woodpecker. You are not so apt to find him as the other two, for his -work is deeper and more laborious and they are likely to flit flightily -away while he still drills and ogles. Yet you can hear him much farther -away than the others, and it is not difficult to slip quietly up and see -him at his work. Prim and erect he stands on some rotten stub, his -stiff tail-feathers jabbing it to hold him steady, his head now driving -his nail-like bill with taps like those of a busy carpenter’s hammer, -anon speeding up till it has almost the effect of an electric buzzer. -Then he looks solemnly with one eye in at the hole that he has made, -prods again eagerly and pulls out a fat white grub, gulps it, and goes -hop-toading up the stub looking for more probe possibilities. Or perhaps -he writes scrawly Ms. in the atmosphere as he flits jerkily over to the -next tree that pleases him. - -Thus though not of a feather these three flock together in the biting -cold of winter days and seem to be cheery and courageous if not exactly -contented. They are all hole-born and hole-building birds and when night -overtakes them they know well where to find wind-proof hollow trunks -where they may snuggle, round and warm in their fluffed out feathers -till dawn calls them to work again. - -Yet, with all the yearning of the trees and the joy of the woodland -creatures in the prospect of snow it ended in no snow storm. All day -long the sun shone palely through a frost fog and the frost crystals -sprang out of it at the touch of the icy wind and tinkled into -snowflakes right before your eyes. The wind swept a feathery fluff -together in corners but at nightfall when the moon shone through a -clearer air and a near-zero temperature the crystals had begun to -evaporate, and by morning hardly a trace of them was left. To-day it is -April-like; to-morrow we may have zero weather again and before these -words get into print perhaps the yearned-for snow will have come and -with its kindly shelter covered the succulent green things of pasture -and woodland that need it so badly. - -It is wonderful, though, how they stand freezing and thawing and yet -remain green, firm in texture, and wholesome. The birds of the air have -feathers which they can fluff out and make into a down puff for a winter -night covering. Here in the pine grove is the pipsissewa starring the -ground with its rich green clumps. It is as full of color and sap, -seemingly, as it was in July when its fragrant wax-like blossoms starred -its green with pink. No cell of the fleshy texture of its green leaves -is broken nor is there a tarnish in their gloss. Its seedpod stands dry -on a dry scape in place of its flower, but that alone shows the -difference between summer and winter. Yet it stands naked to the north -wind protected by neither feathers nor fur. Who can tell me by what -principle it remains so? Why is the thin-leaved pyrola and the partridge -berry, puny creeping vine that it is, still green and unharmed by frost -when the tough, leathery leaves of the great oak tree not far off are -withered and brown? - -Chlorophyl, and cellular structure, and fibro-vascular bundles in the -one plant wither and lose color and turn brown at a touch of frost. In -another not ten feet away they stand the rigors of our northern winters -and come out in the spring, seemingly unharmed and fit to carry on the -internal economy of the plant’s life until it shall produce new leaves -to take their places. Then in the mild air of early summer these winter -darers fade and die. Here in the swamp the tough and woody -cat-o’-nine-tails is brown and papery to the tip of its six-foot stalk. -The blue flag that was a foot high is brown and withered alongside it, -yet the tender young leaves of the _Ranunculus repens_ growing between -the two and not having a tenth of their strength are tender and young -and green and unharmed still. The first two died at a touch of the -frost. The buttercup leaves have been frozen and thawed a score of times -without hurt. - -You might guess that the swamp water has an elixir in it that saves the -life of the repens; but how about the _Ranunculus bulbosus_, European -cousin of the repens? That grows on the sandy hillside, and even the -root tips that extend below its little white bulb have been frozen stiff -a score of times since the woody stemmed goldenrod beside it dropped -dead, sere and brown, at the first good freeze. Yet to-day in the -smiling sun I found the young leaves of the _Ranunculus bulbosus_ green -and succulent and unharmed of their cellular structure, and so I am sure -they will remain, under the snow or bare, as the case may be when the -first yellow bud pushes upward from that white bulb where it is now -patiently waiting the word. Our botanists who study heroically to find -some minute variation in form that they may add another Latin name to -their text-books might study these variations in habit and result and -tell me the reason for them. I’d be glad to buy some more books on -botany; but none that I have seen have so far within their pages any -explanation of this puzzle. - - - - -WHEN THE SNOW CAME - - -I haven’t seen my friend the cottontailed rabbit for some days. All the -winter, so far, he has frequented his little summer camp on the southern -slope of the hill, well up toward the top, among the red oaks. Here in a -little tangle of tiny undergrowth and brown leaves, with a fallen trunk -for overhead shelter, you might find him any forenoon. He had backed -into this place and trampled and snuggled till he had a round and cosy -form just a bit bigger than himself, where the sun might warm him until -he was drowsy and he could sit in a brown ball with his feet tucked -beneath his fluffy fur, his ears laid along his back, and his eyes half -closed in dreamy contentment. - -I could step quietly up the path and see him sometimes a second before -he saw me, but only for a second. Then his dream of succulent bark of -wild apple trees and other delicacies of the winter woods would pass -with a single thump of his sturdy hind feet as he struck the earth a -half dozen feet away from his snug lodging, and more thumps and the -bobbing of a white tail would carry him out of sight in a flash. He bobs -and thumps just as a deer does when you surprise him in the forest, and -flies a white flag in just the same way. Both go jerking away like -sturdy but nervous sprites, and though a deer in the forest is supposed -to be the epitome of grace, I can never see it. The startled fawn and -the startled bunny are both too eager to get on to be graceful. - -We have just had some touches of real - -[Illustration: Here in a little tangle of tiny undergrowth and brown -leaves, with a fallen trunk for overhead shelter, you might find him -any forenoon] - -winter and these have sent the cottontail to the seclusion of his -burrow, where he lacks the health-giving warmth of the sun, it is true, -but where he is snug and comfortable beneath the frost line. Like the -rabbit most of the wild creatures of the wood seem to endure the snow -with cheerful philosophy, but I am convinced that few of them like it. -It hides their food from them, and if it is deep or a strong crust makes -its surface difficult of penetration its long-continued presence mean -short rations or even starvation and death. The squirrels have some -stores within hollow trunks and these are available at any season, but -much of their winter food is buried helter-skelter beneath brown leaves -and too deep snow shuts them off from it. The fox must range farther and -pounce more surely, for the field mice which are his bread and butter -are squeaking about their usual business in pearly tunnels where he may -not reach them. The woodchucks are tucked away for the winter, the -skunks are dozing fitfully on short rations, hungry but inert, and even -Brer Rabbit does not venture out of his hole for days at a time when his -enemies, winter and rough weather, are upon him. - -Yet if the furred and feathered people of pasture and woodland have no -occasion to love the snow it is far different with the trees and shrubs -and tender plants of the out-door world. These have yearned for it with -love and a faith that has rarely lacked fulfilment. They talked about it -incessantly, each in the voice of its kind, the big forest oaks with the -cheery rustle of sturdy burghers, the little scrub oaks with the -tittle-tattle of small-natured folk. Let the wind blow north or south -or high or low the birches sang a little silky song of snow and the -pines hummed or roared to the same refrain. Then it came, “announced by -all the trumpets of the sky,” as Emerson says, but muted trumpets that -blared without sound. The eyes saw the flourish of them, the nose mayhap -whiffed the rich odor of the storm. You could see it in the sky and feel -the light touch of its unwonted air on your cheek, but you could not say -that the wind blew north or blew south when the culmination of signs -made you sure of it. The storm may bleat along the hillside like a lost -lamb or roar high above in the clashings of the infinite skies after it -is well under way, but always before it begins is this little breathless -pause between the dying of one wind and the birth of another. - -So it was that the first of this snow came to the woods. In the hush of -expectation there was a certain feeling of awe. The trees felt it as -much as I did and stood as breathless and expectant. Instead of clearly -defined clouds, the whole air seemed to thrill with the dusky gray -presence of a spirit out of unknown space, of whose beneficence we might -hope, but of whom we were not without dread. And so the dusk of the -storm we hoped for gloomed down on us in the breathless stillness and -tiny flakes slipped down so quietly that the touch of their ghost -fingers on my cheek was the first that I knew of their actual coming. -The pine boughs high over my head caught these first flakes and held -them lovingly and let them slip through their fingers only after many -caresses, and soon through all the pine wood you could hear a little -sigh that was a purr of contentment in the first faint breathing of the -north wind bearing many flakes. - -Thus the snow comes to the woods. You can see its portent glooming in -the sky for hours beforehand, smell it in the rich, still air and feel -its touch on your cheek. When I stepped out from under the cathedral -gloom of the space beneath the pines, I found the air full of flakes -whirling down from the north and the field white with them. - -Standing in the midst of the storm in the field, you have a chance to -see something of its color, for after all falling snow is only -relatively white. Looking toward the dense, dark foliage of the pine -wood, you see it at its best, especially across the wind, for the -contrast is most vivid and the color most distinct. Each individual -flake is so distinct and so white, from those near you, which go -scurrying earthward as if in a great hurry, to those of the distance, -which float leisurely down. Look again up the wind toward the gray of -the hard-wood forest and you shall find the falling hosts almost as gray -as the wood which they half blot out. But if you would see black snow, -you have but to lift your eyes to the leaden gray sky out of which, as -you see them from below, flakes float in black blots that erase -themselves only when they lie at your feet. In open wells in the deep -wood you can see this still more definitely as you look up, a black snow -falling all about you, to be changed to spotless white by some miracle -of contact with the earth. - -In the deep woods, too, you hear the cry of the snow, not the song of -the trees in the joy of its coming, but the voices of the flakes -themselves, their little shrill cries as they touch leaf or twig. To -the pines that held up soft arms of welcome and clasp them close and -will not let them go away though each bough is weighted down, they -whisper a soft little cooing word that is surely “love” in any language. -No wonder it is warm under pine boughs in a snow-storm. The great trees -glow with the happiness of it and the radiance of their delight filters -down to you as you stand beneath. The flakes seem to love the bare, -smooth twigs of the hard-wood maples less, they give them just a pat and -a gentle word of greeting as they go by, and they touch the birches -almost flippantly. Among the fine pointed tridents of the pasture -cedars, however, they linger somewhat as they do among the pines, though -their song here is of jovial friendship only, with even something -waggish about it. They linger in groups among the cedar boughs for -awhile, but often start up in gentle glee and shake themselves clear, -leaving the tree in a sort of blank dismay until more of their fellows -come to take their places. There is a little swish of fairy laughter as -they do this, as of the snickering of fat bogles as they play pranks in -the white wilderness. - -But it is over on the oak hillside where the red and black oaks still -hold resolutely to their dried leaves that the cry of the snow will most -astonish you. It is not at all the rustle of these oak leaves in a wind. -It is an outcry, an uproar, that drowns any other sound that might be in -the wood. It is impossible to distinguish voices or words. It is as if -ten thousand of the little people of the wood and field and sky had -suddenly come together in great excitement over something and were -shouting all up and down the gamut of goblin emotion. After I have stood -and listened to it for a minute or two I begin to look at one shoulder -and then the other fully expecting to see gabbling goblins grouped -there, yelling to one another in my very ears. Here with closed eyes you -may easily tell the quality of the snow about you by the sound. Each -sort of flake has its distinct tone which is easily recognized through -all the uproar. At nightfall of this first snow of ours it happened that -in the meeting of northerly and southerly currents which had brought the -storm, the north wind lulled and the south began to have its way again. -This gave us at first a great downfall of big flakes that seemed to blot -out all the world in an atmosphere of fluff. Then, evidently, the warmth -in the upper atmosphere increased for the big flakes gave way to a fine -fall of rounded sleet. Then, indeed, we got outcry the most astonishing -in the oak wood. The voices shrilled and fined and all crepitation was -lost in a vast chorus of a million peeping frogs. Nothing else ever -sounded like it. It was as if a goblin springtime had burst upon us in -the white gloom of the oak wood and all the hylas in the world were -piping their shrillest from the boughs. - -I went home. I think it was time. People used to get among goblins at -dusk in this way in the old country and when they got back from goblin -land they found that they had been gone three years, and I didn’t care -to stay away so long. - -During the night the sleet changed to rain which froze as it fell, and -in the morning the snow everywhere was but an inch or two deep and -covered with an icy crust that broke underfoot with a great noise and -effectually scared away any woodland thing that you approached, provided -it had powers of locomotion. Fox or crow, partridge or rabbit, must have -thought that Gulliver was once more walking in among the Lilliputians -with his very biggest boots on. Never were such thunderous footsteps -heard in my wood, at least not since the last icy crust. Frozen in the -icy surface were the trails that had been made when the snow was soft, -the squirrel’s long, plunging leaps with his hind feet dropping into the -hole his front feet had made, giving something you might mistake for -deer tracks, except that they went back up the tree. You saw where the -crow had dropped to earth and trailed his aristocratically long hind -toe, with its incurving claw. The crow’s foot is fine for grasping a -limb, but it does not fit the ground well. On the other hand, the trail -of the ruffed grouse which may lie beside it shows an ideal footprint -for walking woodland paths, the hind toe stubby nailed, short but firm, -and the whole print well planted and fitting the earth. - -These and many more I found modeled in ice, but the trails that -interested me most were those beneath the crust, the long tunnels that -wound here and there, intersected and doubled and made portions of the -fields and forests for all the world like the blue veining of a white -skin. These were the trails of the shaggy-coated, crop-eared, -short-legged, shorttailed meadow mouse. This firm crust had opened to -him the opportunity of safety in paths that had been before dangerous in -the extreme. He knew where chestnuts had lain open to the sky for -months, but he dared not go into the open path to get them. Fox, cat, -skunk, weasel, hawk, owl, crow, all watched the paths and the edges of -the thick grass for him. He must burrow or die. So he does burrow all -the year through, just beneath the surface, in dirt if he must, under -light leaves and brush and matted grasses by preference, for there he -may go the more easily and quickly to his food. His eyesight and hearing -are good, and he moves like a little brown flash when he has to go into -the open. - -If I wish to see him I watch well-worn footpaths through matted grass -and leaves. Here his tunnels end on one side of the path and begin on -the other and he takes the chance of crossing this risky opening to sun -and sky as often as he feels he must, but he wrecks the speed limit -every time he does it. So quickly does he go that you cannot be sure -what has happened; there was the stirring of a leaf on one side and a -grass stem on the other and a sudden vanishing touch of brown between -the two, but which way it went or whether it went at all is doubtful. -So, too, his tunnels come down and open at the water’s edge by the -meadow brook and if you are patient and have rare luck you may see him -swim across. Here trout and mink are on the watch for him. His numbers -need to be great if, with all his caution and agility, he is going to -survive all these huntsmen, and they are great. He may breed at two -months of age and have many litters a season and his progeny, if -unchecked, soon swarm. All the meadows are full of them this year, but -it is only when such a snow as we now have comes that we have a chance -to see what they may do. - -In the summer-time they stick close to their meadows, living on -succulent roots and stems. They are especially fond of tuberous roots of -the wild morning-glory, which they store by the pound in their grass -larders near their nests. But under the welcome cover of the snow they -push their excursions far afield and their netted-veined trails come -even to your house itself, though they rarely dispute the wainscoting -with the house mouse. Now and then they do, however, and I fancy they -have no trouble in holding their own against their slighter and more -aristocratic cousins. When they do come you will know their presence by -the extraordinary noise of their gnawing. Once a stone crusher, no less -by the sound, got into my garret, and after one sleepless night I set -the biggest trap I had, expecting to get the most enormous brown rat -that ever happened, if not some new and more elephantine rodent. What I -caught was a well-grown field mouse, and the noise passed with him. - -The rain which produced this thunderous and telltale snow crust brought -a new and gorgeous growth to the trees. From trunk to topmost twig, each -was garmented in regal splendor of crystal ice. I had been in goblin -land when I fled, at twilight, from the eerie shrilling of bogle hylas -among the oak trees. I had come back into fairyland with the rising sun. -The demure shrubs, gray Cinderellas of the ashes of the year, had been -touched by the magic wand and were robed in more gems than might glow in -the wildest dreams of the most fortunate princess of Arabian tale. -Ropes of pearl and festoons of diamonds weighed the more slender almost -to earth. The soft white shoulders of the birches drooped low in -bewildering curtsey, and to the fiddling of a little morning wind the -ball began with a tinkling of gem on gem, a stabbing of scintillant -azure, so that I was fain to shut my eyes with the splendor of it. - -Then came the prince himself to dance with them, the morning sun, -flashing his gold emblazonry through their gems till the corruscation -drowned the sight in an outpouring of fire. The princesses all began to -speak as he came among them, a speech wherein dropped from their lips -all jewels and precious stones. Sunbursts of diamonds fell from dainty -young pines and ropes of pearls slid from the coral lips of slender -birches. The babble fell all about their feet in such ecstasies of -brilliant speech, such tinkling of fairy laughter as the wood had never -yet seen. Brave revels have the little people of the forest under the -moon of midsummer night, no doubt, but never could they show such royal, -dainty splendor as their own trees did this midwinter day when the sun -shone in upon them after the ice storm. - - - - -THE MINK’S HUNTING GROUND - - -I wish I could have seen the country about the great spring which goes -by the name, locally, of “Fountain Head” the year that the clock stopped -for the glaciers hereabout. That year when the last bit of the ice cap, -that for ages had slid down across southeastern Massachusetts and built -up its inextricable confusion of sand and gravel moraines, melted away, -would have shown a thousand great springs like it, bubbling up all -through the region, almost invariably from the northerly base of -gravelly cliffs over which the sun can hardly peep at noonday, so steep -they are. Here they flow to-day in the same mystery. Why should these -unfailing springs rush forth so steadily, be the weather hot or cold, or -the drought never so long or so severe? Why should their temperature -like their flow be changeless, summer or winter? - -I sometimes believe that their waters filter through deep caverns from -far Arctic glaciers continually renewed. Perhaps to have looked at them -before the changing seasons of more thousands of years had clothed the -gravel and sand with humus, grown the forests all about and choked the -fountains themselves with acres of the muck of decayed vegetation no one -knows how deep, would have been to see them with clearer eyes and have -been led to an answer to the questions. Now I know them only as bits of -the land where time seems to have stood still, fastnesses where dwell -the lotus eaters of our New England woods, where winter’s cold howls -over their heads, but does not descend, and where summer’s heat rims -them round, but hardly dares dabble its toes in their cool retreat. - -Progress has built its houses on the hills about them, freight trains -two miles away roar so mightily that the quaggy depths tremble with the -vibrations, and you may sit with the arethusas in mossy muck and hear -the honk of the automobile mingling with that of the wild geese as they -both go by in spring. Yet the one makes as much impression on the land -and its inhabitants as the other. The lotus eaters know not Ulysses; if -he wants them for his ships of progress he must capture them by force -and tie them beneath the rowers’ benches, else they return. Even the -temperature of those last days of the ice cap seems to have got tangled -in the spell and to dwell with the mild-eyed melancholy of the place the -year round. In midsummer the thermometer may stand at 120 in the -quivering nooks where the sun beats down upon the sandy plains above; -the waters of the fountain head are ice cold still, and give their -temperature to the brook and its borders. In midwinter the mercury may -register twenty below, and the gales from the very boreal pole freeze -the pines on those same sandy plains till their deep hearts burst; the -waters that flow from those mysterious fountains will have no skim of -ice on their surface. - -From what unfathomed depths the waters draw their constancy we may never -know, nor on what day may well forth with them some new form of life -bred on the potency of their elixir. To-day is freezing cold and now -and then snow-squalls whirl in among the swamp maples, eddying in flocks -as the goldfinches do, yet the surface of the biggest pool where the -waters well up is covered with the vivid green of new plant life. -Millions of tiny boreal creatures swim free on the cool surface, plants -reduced to their simplest terms, born for aught I know in depths below -like those - - “Where Alph, the sacred river, ran - Through caverns measureless to man - Down to a sunless sea,” - -whence they ooze in the seeping of the upward current to our shores. No -one has here found the seeds of these stemless pinheads of green that -lie flat on the surface and send down for a wee fraction of an inch -their two or three tiny root hairs into the water. - -No one can say they are apetalous or monosepalous or sporangiferous or -call them other hard names in Latin having reference to their flowering -or fruiting for we may not say that they flower or fruit at all. These -minutest Lemnas give us no sign of stamin or spore, of carpel or -indusium, yet they multiply by millions and cover the surface of the -spring pools whence they depart constantly with the outflowing current, -voyaging gayly down Brobdingnagian rapids to the sea. The time of year -when it is winter in the sky above and on the bank a few feet up the -hillside, when all green life except that which grows with its roots in -this magic water from the deep caves of earth is either killed or -suspended, seems to be their time for growth. - -They grow a little, to a certain stage when perhaps a plant covers -surface to the size of a pinhead and a half, then split and become -independent plants with a tiny root hair apiece. Brave equipment this -for facing the January gales and frost of a northern winter. Yet they -sail forth from the home pool as confidently as liners from the home -port and rollick all along down the stream, making harbor in every tiny -bay and collecting a fleet in each eddy. What potency of perpetual -spring they sow as they traverse all the ways that wind in and about the -levels below the fountain head we do not know, any more than we know -what elixir vitæ dwells in the waters on which they are borne, yet -something makes the region the lotus land of creatures of the wild where -they linger on unmindful of their vanished kindred. - -Out of the rich vegetable mould of ages, in the cool, moist shadows grow -the rarer New England orchids in the summer, and the rarer migrant -birds of our summer woods find asylum here for their nests and young. In -the winter the ruffed grouse comes here to drink, finds gravel for his -crop always bare and unfrozen on the hillside where the first seepings -of water come forth, and no doubt gets an agreeable change of food in -the succulent green things of the shallows. Several of these birds cling -to the place, nor can I drive them away by simply flushing them. They -circle and come back to the brook margin or its immediate neighborhood -every time. - -Where the swamp maples have grown large on the bank and lifted the soil -with their roots high enough to form miniature dry islands the mink have -built their burrows and thence they go forth to hunt the region all -about, but especially - -[Illustration: You may get a glimpse of the weasel-like head of one -lifted above the bank as he sniffs the breeze for game and enemies] - -the brook and its tributaries, most ravenously. If you are patient, -fortunate, and the wind is right you may at dusk get a glimpse of the -weasel-like head of one lifted above the bank as he sniffs the breeze -for game and enemies. In that light his fur will look black though it is -really a pretty shade of brown, but you will not fail to see the white -streak which runs from his chin downward. But, though you may not see -the animal himself you cannot, if there is snow on the ground, fail to -see his slender, aristocratic track with its clutching claws, for the -mink is a desperate hunter and always hungry. All is fish that comes to -his net,--trout, turtles, toads, snails, bugs, or anything he can find -in the brook that seems in the least edible. - -The semi-aquatic life of the enchanted region is sadly destructive of -other life, and I feel little pity for the mink or the weasel, sleek -and beautiful wild creatures though they are, if they in turn fall into -the steel jaws which the trapper sets for them in the narrow passes all -up and down the stream. It is the common lot of the woods and only the -swiftest and most crafty can hope to escape it. The mink devour the -trout, and they, seemingly innocent and beautiful enough to have come -up, water sprites, from that unknown underground world whence well the -crystal waters in which they live, are as greedy and irresponsible in -their diet as the mink themselves. Like them, when hungry they will -devour the young of their own species and smack their lips over the -feast. - -The trout will eat anything that looks to be alive either in the water -or on the surface. I often amuse myself in summer by biting small -chunks out of an apple and dropping them in, to see the trout swallow -them as ravenously as if they had suddenly become vegetarians and had -all the zeal of new converts. What the Jamaica ginger preparation of the -brook world is I don’t know, unless it is watercress. That grows, green -and peppery, all up and down the brook the year through. Perhaps the -trout go from my green apple luncheon over to that and thus join the -remedy to the disease. - -One of the trout titbits is the gentle little caddice worm, grub of the -little miller-like caddice fly that flits in at the open window of a May -night and lights on the table under the glare of your lamp. He dwells on -the bottom in these same pure waters and he has much to do to defend -himself against the jaws of his nimble hunter. He is but a worm that -crawls, so speed may not save him. His skin is tender and he has no -weapon of defense save his brain which one would hardly think adequate -in so humble a creature. Yet if you will sit on the brink and watch what -goes on in the cool depths you will see how cleverly and in what a -variety of ways he and his kindred, for there are several varieties, -have become skilled in self-defense. The little fellow has, like most -grubs, the power to spin fine silk. This would count for little though -he spun a whole cocoon, for the trout would swallow him, silken overcoat -and all. But he does better than that. He collects bits of log from the -bottom and winds these in his silken warp till he has knotted himself -firmly within a log house. There is no incentive to a trout to eat twigs -from the bottom, so the defenseless caddice worm is passed unnoticed. -He is snugly rolled in silk within his rough house and moves about by -cautiously putting out a leg or two and crawling with the logs on his -back. Another variety uses small pebbles instead of logs. Taking a stone -from bottom in the swift running water of a tiny rapid to-day I found it -covered with little gravel barnacles that clung like limpets to the -proverbial rock. - -I could pry them off only by the use of considerable force and even when -I did this the wee bits of gravel, carefully fitted together in a -hemisphere, still remained, bound in strong bands. Within the hollow was -the little creature that had built the structure, his silken netting -still holding him snug within his rock castle, so much brain has this -seemingly blind and helpless worm for the preservation of himself. But -more than this, the builder and riveter of this adamantine castle has -other use for his silken bands than to bind stone or to weave himself a -silken garment against the damp weather at the brook bottom. He is a -fisherman as well, and stretched between two stones near by or perhaps -hanging over the edge of the larger stone on which he dwells is his net, -built funnel-form with the larger end toward the oncoming current, the -smaller closed with silken netting, all carefully spread to catch tiny -creatures slipping down stream with the current, on which the -net-builder, castle-dweller, may feed. These homely, home-building, -home-keeping fishermen lead an humble and pious life compared with that -of the rakish, cannibalistic trout, and they have their reward. Some -day, before the spring is very old, they will give up casting their -nets, build their house firmer, though still leaving a chance for a -circulation of water, and fall asleep. They will awaken to glide -heavenward out of the swirl of the current, veritable white angels with -downy wings which they will spread and on which they will soar away to a -new world which is as different from that in which they bound themselves -in logs or granite to escape their enemies as is the old-time orthodox -heaven from the world in which the preachers of it lived. - - - - -IN THE WHITE WOODS - - -The snow came out of the north at a temperature of only twenty degrees -above zero, yet, strange to say, for some hours it came damp and froze -immediately on every tree-trunk or twig that it struck. The temperature -remained the same all day and through the night, but the streak of soft -weather somewhere up above which was responsible for the damp snow soon -passed away and frozen crystals sifted down that had in them no -suspicion of moisture. Yet these tangled tips with those already frozen -firmly to the trees, and made a wonderful snow growth the whole woodland -through. The next morning it hung there untouched in the crystal -stillness and as the woodland people waked they might well have rubbed -their eyes, for they had found a new world. - -It was a mystical white world that had crowded in and mocked the slender -growth of all trees and shrubs with swollen facsimiles in white. The -northerly side of tree-trunks, large or small, showed no longer gray -bark or brown, rough or smooth. Instead, fluffy white boles rose from -the white ground and divided into white limbs, which separated again -into mighty twigs of white. The dark outlines of bare trees, the -delicate tracery of gray and black that massed day before yesterday in -the exquisite dark shades of the winter woods, existed only as a faint -definition of the world of whiteness which had descended upon us in a -night. - -Upon each shrub and tree had grown another, its fellow in exact -reproduction of line and curve, only swollen to forty times the size. -This enormity of limb and twig shut off all vistas. Where it had been -easy to see through the bare wood, the brush merely latticing your view -and softening up the middle distance with gray or pink or brown, -according to the growth, now the gaze was tangled in a narrow grotto -heavily decorated with buttress and baluster, with fluting, frieze, and -fillet, with mantel, moulding, mullion, and machicolation, and beat in -vain against a solid wall of alabaster just beyond. The greater pines -were pointed cones of white, each limb drooping with the weight of snow -to its fellow below, and the hangings of the outer tips joining to form -a surface wherein miniature domes, set strangely askew, yet massed in -curves of superb beauty to the making of the symmetrical whole. - -In it all there was no feeling of weight. As a matter of fact it pressed -the smaller shrubs and trees well down toward earth. The narrow woodland -path was barred with a woven portcullis of white that had swung down -from either side. Here and there in the open the smaller pasture cedars -were bowed to the ground, doing reverence to the garment of mystic -purity with which the earth was sanctified as if for the passing of the -grail. In a moment you expected to see some Galahad rise from his knees -with shining face, take horse beneath the marble towers of this woodland -Camelot, and ride down white lanes in holy quest. In the deep wood the -seedling pines broke through the drifts like gnomes from mines of -alabaster, whimsical green faces showing beneath grotesque caps and -shoulder capes that were part of the whelming snow. Yet it all looked as -light and airy as any structure of the imagination, seeming as if it -might rise and float away with a change of mood, some substance of which -air castles are built, some great white dream poised to drift lightly -into the realm of the remembered, as white dreams do. - -In woodland pathways where the trees were large enough on either side so -that they did not bend beneath the snow and obstruct, all passage was -noiseless; amongst shrubs and slender saplings it was almost impossible. -The bent withes hobbled you, caught you breast high and hurled you back -with elastic but unyielding force, throttled you and drowned you in -avalanches of smothering white. To attempt to penetrate the thicket was -like plunging into soft drifts where in the blinding white twilight you -found yourself inexplicably held back by steel-like but invisible bonds, -drifts where you felt the shivery touch of the cold fingers of winter -magic changing you into a veritable snow man, and as such you emerged. -It was more than baptism, it was total immersion, you were initiated -into the order of the white woods and not even your heel was vulnerable. - -Thus panoplied in white magic, my snowshoes making no sound on the -fluffy floor of woodland paths, I felt that I might stalk invisible and -unheeded in the wilderness world. The fern-seed of frost fronds had -fallen upon my head in fairy grottos built by magic in a night. These -had not been there before, they would not be there to-morrow. To-morrow, -too, the magic might be gone, but for to-day I was to feel the chill -joy of it. - -A ruffed grouse was the first woodland creature not to see me. I stalked -around a white corner almost upon him and stood poised while he -continued to weave his starry necklaces of footprints in festoons about -the butts of scrubby oaks and wild-cherry shrubs. He too was barred from -the denser tangle which he might wish to penetrate. He did not seem to -be seeking food. Seemingly there was nothing under the scrub oaks that -he could get. It was more as if, having breakfasted well, he now walked -in meditation for a little, before starting in on the serious business -of the day. He too was wearing his snowshoes, and they held him up in -the soft snow fully as well as mine supported me. His feet that had been -bare in autumn now had grown quills which helped support his weight but -did not take away from the clean-cut, star-shaped impression of the -toes. Rather they made lesser points between these four greater ones and -added to the star-like appearance of the tracks. - -I knew him for a male bird by the broad tufts of glossy black feathers -with which his neck was adorned. It was the first week in February, but -then Saint Valentine’s day comes on the fourteenth, and on this day, as -all folklore--which right or wrong we must perforce believe--informs us, -the birds choose their mates. My cock partridge must have been planning -a love sonnet, weaving rhymes as he wove his trail in rhythmic curves -that coquetted with one another as rhymes do. His head nodded the rhythm -as his feet fell in the proper places. Now and then he bent forward in -his walk as one - -[Illustration: He lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy black -neck feathers and strutted] - -does in deep meditation. If he had hands they would have been clasped -behind his back when in this attitude, as his wings were. Again he -lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy black neck feathers and -strutted. Here surely was a fine phrase that would reach the waiting -heart of that mottled brown hen that was now quietly keeping by herself -in some secluded corner of the wood. The thought threw out his chest, -and those tail feathers that had folded slimly as he walked in pensive -meditation spread and cocked fan-shaped. I half expected him to open his -strong, pointed bill and gobble as a turkey does under similar -circumstances. The demure placing of star after star in that necklace -trail was broken by a little fantastic _pas seul_, from which he dropped -suddenly on both feet, vaulted into the air, and whirred away down -arcades of snowy whiteness and vanished. I don’t think he saw me. He -was rushing to find the lady and recite that poem to her before he -forgot it. - -On the white page of the path that lay open under groined arches of -alabaster no foot had written a record for many rods, then it seemed as -if from side to side stretched a highway. Back and forth in straight -lines had gone a creature that made a lovely decorative pattern of a -trail, a straight line firmly drawn as if with a stylus, on either side -at a distance say of three-fourths of an inch tiny footmarks just -opposite each other, while alternating with these and nearer the middle -line were fainter and finer footprints. - -Here the tiny deer-mouse had drawn his long tail through the snow, -whisking from stump to stump in a quiver of excitement lest an enemy -gobble him up, shooting across like a gray shuttle weaving this -exquisite pattern that is like that of a dainty embroidery on a lady’s -collar. How he can gallop so regularly and make his tail mark so -straight is more than I can tell. Indeed, so sly he is and so swiftly -does he go that I have never seen him make it. Beside this tiny pattern -the marks where the gray squirrel has leaped across are like those of an -hippopotamus on a rampage and the print of my own snowshoe was as if -there had been a catastrophe and a section of the sky had fallen. - -Along with the tiny mouse tracks were those of our least squirrel, the -chipmunk. There is no difficulty about seeing him. He will almost come -if you whistle for him. If you will camp near his burrow you may teach -him to come and eat nuts out of your hand, answering any prearranged -signal, such as whacking them together or chirping to him. - -Even though you are a total stranger he will not hesitate to whisk out -of his hole under the brush heap right in your face and eyes, whisking -back again in great terror, no doubt, but immediately putting out his -whiskered nose to sniff and wrinkle it in comical confusion, half -friendly, half frightened. So I had but to wait a moment before little -_Tamias striatus_ was out from under the brush pile and had flipped over -to a fallen log, ploughing the soft snow off the end of it in a -comically frantic rush to his hole there, the entrance being snowed up. -He was in and out again in a jiffy, standing on his hind legs and -peering over the log and making noses at me, jumping to the - -[Illustration: He was in and out again in a jiffy] - -top and whirling and jumping down again, and then flashing out and -kicking up crystals in a rush across the road to another hole under -another brush pile, his scantily furred half tail erect and as -humorously vivacious as everything else about him. The chipmunk when he -thinks he is going to be captured and is filled with great fear--half of -it being, I believe, fear that he wont be--is the most delightfully -comical little chap that grows in the woods. If he’d only keep as wild -as that after he is tamed I’d like one for a pet. - -Down in the open meadow where the unfrozen brook ran black in its banks -of snow, touched only here and there with the green of luxuriant -watercress, I found the trail of the crows. Not one was in sight and -there was no sound from them anywhere. It was as if the snow had -covered them under and they were unable to break through it. Here, -however, was evidence to the contrary. Surely they had breakfasted, and -no doubt well. They had marched all up and down the low banks, and where -a snowy island lay in midstream they had promenaded it from one end to -the other. Here and there I could see where they had stepped into -shallow water and waded. The marks of muddy claws in the white snow were -much in evidence where they had jumped out again. Just as summer bathers -“tread for quahaugs” in the summer shallows south of the cape, I could -fancy them feeling with their toes for shell-fish and prodding for them -with long bill when found. But they had had a salad, too, with -breakfast. I could see where they had pulled out the watercress all -along and cropped it down to the larger stems. Even in winter weather -when the snow lies deep the crow knows where to find what is good for -him. - -Where the path wound round the brow of the hill and the birches stand, -their granaries still full of manna for the wandering bird, it seemed -again as if my plunge into the white thicket had baptized me with -invisibility. Of a sudden the air was full of the sound of wings and a -flock of tree sparrows that must have numbered hundreds swung about my -head and charged the snow-covered birches. Their dash shook some snow -off and a few lighted, the others swinging off and having at them again. -This time all found a footing and began to feed eagerly on the seeds -from the tiny cones, scattering the birdlike scales in flocks far -greater than their own. - -I had stopped stock-still at the sound of their wings, and they took no -more notice of me than if I had been a snowed-up fence post or a pasture -cedar. I tried to count them, but it was not easy. They seemed to -twinkle from twig to twig like wavelets in the sun, and though their -garb is sober their movements dazzle. Just as I would get a group on a -single tree nicely tallied they flashed as one bird over to another -tree, and mingling with their fellows there spoiled the count. I finally -estimated, rather roughly, that there were three hundred of them, a half -of a light brigade of as merry fellows as I wish to meet. They twittered -jovially and musically among themselves, and now and then one essayed a -little _sotto voce_ song which he never could finish because immediately -his mouth was full. - -Once or twice some inaudible order seemed to thrill through the flock -and they whirled upward as if a single muscle moved every wing, swung a -short ellipse and lighted again, often in the same trees. As they worked -into the birches almost over my very head I could see every marking on -them; the black mandibles, the lower yellowish at the base, the reddish -brown crown and the back streaked with the same color, with black, and a -yellowish buff, the wing coverts tipped with white and the grayish white -breast with what looks like an indistinct dark spot in the center. In a -kaleidoscopic flock of three hundred or more it is not easy to give -every bird even a passing glance, but I am quite sure there were other -than tree sparrows present. I seemed to see birds without the faint dark -spot in the breast. A few, I know, had a distinctly rufous tint there, -and I fancy swamp sparrows, a few of which winter hereabouts, and -perhaps other birds for sociability’s sake, were with my winter -chippies. - -The shaking of the snow from the trees and their gleaning among the -birch cones had scattered the little seeds which they love so well all -about on the snow and soon they followed them. The surface a little -before had been white. Before the birds were ready to come down it was -spiced so liberally with the seeds and scales that they had shaken down -that it was the color of cinnamon. Then with one motion the flock -dropped like autumn leaves and began a most systematic seed hunt in -which they left no bit of the space unsought. Yet when they were gone -you would hardly find two tracks that crossed; they hopped in winding -parallels that never went over the same ground a second time, leaving -figures much like the mazes which schoolboys of long ago used to draw -on their slates. They came almost to my feet and I was beginning to feel -that my fancy of invisibility was very real after all when with a -twitter of alarm and a single united action they whirred into the air -and vanished over the treetops. - -I turned away in chagrin. The magic was destroyed, evidently, and in -turning I saw the cause. Just behind me in the snow with quivering tail -and green eyes glaring accusingly was the family cat. He was hunting far -from home, but I saw contemptuous recognition in his eyes and I knew he -was thinking that here was that great, clumsy creature that was always -scaring away his game. - - - - -THE ROAD TO MUDDY POND - - -Two days of greedy south wind had licked up the crisp snow till all the -fields and southerly slopes were bare. Then came the lull before the -north wind should come back, a lull in which you had but to sniff the -air to smell the coming spring; its faint perfume crisped with a frosty -odor that lured the senses like a flavor of stephanotis frappé. It was a -day that tempts a man to take staff and scrip and climb the hills due -south to meet the romance the two days’ wind has brought from far down -the map, perhaps from Venezuela and the highlands that border the banks -of Orinoco. By noon the north wind will be driving it back again, though -bits of it will still be tangled in southerly facing corners of the -hills. - -Such a day is fine for cedar swamps. The boggy morasses under foot will -be firm with the winter’s ice still, but the warm wind has swept all -things clear of snow. Into the most tangled depths you may penetrate -with at least firm footing. Where in summer the treacherous mosses wait -to let you through into black depths of soft muck that have no bottom, -you may walk in safety on the way that the winter has laid for you. - -It is not a time of year to find new things, this season of -mid-February, and yet I had hardly faced the bewildering sun a mile -before, seeking the cool depths of a hemlock-clad northern hillside to -rest my eyes from the glare, I found a yellow birch all hung with fluffy -tassels, as if the wine aroma of the air had fooled it into foliage. Now -the yellow birch is not exactly rare in our woods, here south-west of -Boston, but it is rare enough to be called occasional. Where the _Betula -alba_ is as common, almost, as the grass under foot, the _Betula lutea_ -may not occur once in a square mile. I know it only on cold northern -hillsides or in dense swamps where cool springs bathe its roots all -summer long. There the silvery yellow, silky shreds of its outer bark -mark its trunk as a thing of beauty, winter or summer. You feel like -stroking these curls as if they were those of a flaxen-haired youngster -lost in the deep woods and brave but a bit troubled and in need of -comfort from one who knows. That is the only impression the yellow birch -had ever made on me in all my greetings of it, yet here it was wearing a -semblance of young leaves in this wine-sweet February air. - -Even after the cool depths of the woods had cured my eyes of the sun -glare the illusion remained and I had to climb the tree and pluck some -of this foliage before I was sure what it could be. Surely eyes and no -eyes have we all, for, in all my life, I had never noticed what happens -in winter to the catkins of the yellow birch. Instead of hanging rigid -like wee cones, as do those of the white birch, giving up seeds and -scales to sprinkle the snow or the bare earth as the creatures of the -woods have need of them, these had shed their _fleur-de-lis_ scales and -then held them fluttering in the wind, each by a tiny thread. On looking -at them closely I saw the slim, rat-tail spindle sticking out, its -surface file-like with the sockets of seed and scale, but the effect of -the whole was that of fluffy tan-colored tassels hung along the twigs. -Here and there among these _fleur-de-lis_ the round, flat, -wing-margined seeds were still tangled by the two pistils which still -remained, seeming like tiny black roots, or something like those hooks -by which the tick-seed fastens to you for a free ride. - -Surely the wilderness families have strongly marked individuality. Both -the white and yellow birches must hold their seeds and scatter them -little by little the whole season through, that they may have the better -chance to germinate and continue the race, and I can never see why they -should not do it in the same way. But they do not. Perhaps this infinite -variability is arranged wisely so that people who blunder about with -half seeing eyes may now and then have them opened a little wider and so -be pleased and teased into blundering on. Another season I shall watch -the yellow birches and find, if I can, on what winter date their -catkins blossom into tassels. - -The gravelly ridges of the woodland I tramped as I faced the golden sun -again are singularly like waves of the sea. They roll here and rise to -toppling pinnacles there and tumble about in a confusion that seems at -once inextricable and as if it had in it some rude but unfathomed order. -Surely as at sea every seventh wave is the highest; or is it the ninth, -or the third? Just as at sea, the horizon is by no means a level line. -Wave-strewn ridges shoulder up into it and now and then a peak lifts -that is a cumulation of waves all rushing toward a common center through -some obscure prompting of the surface pulsations. Sometimes at sea your -ship rises on one of these aggregations of waves and you see yawning in -front of it a veritable gulf; or the ship slips down into this gulf and -the toppling pinnacle whelms it and the captain reports a tidal wave to -the hydrographic office, if he is fortunate enough to reach it. So along -my route southward the terminal and lateral moraines, drumlins, and -kames rolled and toppled and leapt upward till they had swung me to a -pinnacled ridge whence I looked down into a stanza from the Idylls of -the King. Along a way like this once rode scornful and petulant Lynette, -followed by great-hearted Gareth, newly knighted, on his first quest; - - “Then, after one long slope was mounted, saw - Bowl-shaped, through tops of many thousand pines - A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink - To westward--in the deeps whereof a mere, - Round as the red eye of an eagle owl - Under the half-dead sunset glared;--” - -That is the way Tennyson saw it, and the counterpart of the gulf, out of -which looked the round-eyed mere, lay at my feet. Long years ago some -first settler, lacking certainly Tennyson’s outlook, stupidly cognizant -only of the worst that his prodding pole could stir up, named the wee -gem of a lake “Muddy Pond.” Here surely was another man with eyes and no -eyes. Round the margin’s lip, summer and winter, rolls the bronze green -sphagnum, its delicate tips simulating shaggy forest growth of hoary -pine and fir. Nestling in its gray-gold heart are the delicate pink -wonder-orchids of late May, the callopogon and arethusa. Here the -pitcher plant holds its purple-veined cups to the summer rain and traps -the insects that slide down its velvety lip and may not climb again -against this same velvet, become suddenly a spiny chevaux-de-frise. All -about are set the wickets of the bog-hobble, the _Nesæa verticillata_, -which in July will blossom into pink-purple flags--decorations, I dare -say, of wood-goblins who play at cricket here on the soft turf of a -midsummer-night’s tournament. - -Of a summer day this tiny bowl is a mile-deep sapphire, holding the sky -in its heart. When thunder clouds hang threatening over it, it is a -black pearl with evanescent gleams of silver playing in its calm depths; -and always the dense green of the swamp cedars that rim its golden -bog-edge round are a setting of Alexandrite stone such as they mine in -the heart of the Ceylon mountains, decked with lighter pencilings of -chrysoprase and beryl. And some man, looking upon all this, saw only the -mud beneath it! Probably he trotted the bog and only knew the wickets -of the _Nesæa verticillata_ were there because they tripped him. And -I’ll warrant the goblins, sitting cross-legged in the deepest shadows of -the cedars, waiting for midnight and their game, mocked him with elfin -laughter--and all he heard was frogs. - -Looking down upon it this brilliant February day, with a tiny cloud -drawn across the sun, it was a pearl. The winter and the distance made -the bog edging pure gold in which it shone with all the white radiance -of its opaque, foot-thick ice. Anon the sun came out and what had been a -pearl gathered subtle fires of blue and red in its crystalline heart and -flashed opaline tints back at me that changed again as I plunged down -the hill toward it, and it lay a Norwegian sunstone shooting forth -fire-yellow glows as the rays of the sun caught the right angle. Nor -was the ice less beautiful when I stood on it. Here opaqueness wove -sprightly patterns with crystalline purity. The surface was smooth under -foot and yet these patterns rose and fell in the ice itself, and it was -hard to believe they were not carved intaglio and then the surface iced -over to a level. It was no prettier ice than I had crossed on the big -pond, but its setting brought out the beauty. - -Ice grown old, after all, is far more beautiful than young ice. -Character is built into it. Living has taught it the highest form of -art, which is to repeat beauty without sameness. What designs might the -makers of floor coverings win from this surface if they would but study -it, and how trite and tame in comparison seem their tiresome -interweaving of square and circle and their endless repetition! - -This solid floor, woven by winter witchery, goes on through the spongy -surface of the bog, mingling with it, yet by some necromancy never -interfering with its own intricate patterns of growth. The sphagnum -fluffs up through it with its delicate fiber unharmed. The pitcher -plants sit jauntily holding their ewers to the sky, filled with ice -instead of water, to be sure, but uncracked and waiting in rows as if -for bogle bellboys to rush with them to unseen guests. I found one -flower-scape with its nodding head still persistent. The seed pod had -cracked along the sides, but the umbrella-like style was still there, -opened and inverted, and it had caught many of the seeds that the pod -had spilled and was holding them for a more favorable season, without -doubt. - -Everywhere the solemn cassandra pushed its black twigs up through the -moss and held its leathery leaves, brown and discouraged, drooping yet -persistent. The cassandra always reminds me of thin, elderly New England -spinsters who enjoy poor health. It is so homely and solemn; even in -joyous June it never cracks a smile, but is just as lugubrious and -sallow and barely holds on to an unprofitable life. And all about, -indeed in many places crowding the very life out of it, grow these -brave, virid, white cedars. You’d think it might catch geniality from -them. Their footing is as precarious as its own. Of course, now, the ice -has set all things in its firm grip, but in summer there is little -enough to hold up the swamp cedars and it is only by entwining their -roots and growing them firmly together in a mat that they are able to -keep their sprightly uprightness. So closely are the young trees set on -the edge of their grove that it is difficult to penetrate their -intertwining branches, and even when you have passed this barrier you -find the trunks so close that often there is no room to go between them. -Here all branches have passed and the straight trunks run upward in -close parallels making all their struggle at the top. And a struggle it -has been indeed for all that are now alive. You may note this by the -bare poles of those that have lagged behind a little in the fight and -lost the magic touch of sunlight on their tops. These are dead and bare, -and their companions have so immediately taken up their slender space -that you wonder how the dead ones ever got so far as they did. It is a -very solemn temple under these cedars. The living wall the dead within -the catacombs and the sighing of the motionless leaves above your head -still leaves you in doubt. It may be trees that sorrow for dead -neighbors or gasp in the struggle to retain their own breathing space. - -Little obstructs your passage, now that the firm ice is underfoot, -unless it is the too close set tree trunks. Goldthread and partridge -berry creep in the moss that mounds about the very stumps of the cedars, -but no other vine or shrub seems to have the vitality to grow here, or -if it had it has wisely used it to flee to more sunny uplands. Not even -in tropical jungles have I seen the struggle for existence so fierce as -it is among these too closely set swamp cedars. One in ten eventually -survives and makes a marketable growth. Other things bring them to -disaster than the choking crowding of their neighbors, however. Here -and there you can see big trees that lurch in strange fashion, some -this way and some that. This is most often true of a pine that by some -chance has grown among them. The cause is the uncertain footing of the -slimpsy bog. As they get heavier and taller they cannot find sufficient -anchorage in the yielding wallop beneath their roots, and sooner or -later a wind comes that tips them over. But I found in places among the -sheltering larger trees, groups of young ones, cedars, that could have -suffered from no wind, they were so well protected and walled round by -their elders. These were laid down in brief windrows all in the same -direction, and I wonder still what force accomplished it. If it had been -a tropical jungle I should have said that here a hippopotamus wandered -up out of the depths and back again, or here an elephant fled from some -retired statesman, but these are not beasts of our frozen forests. - -In one place was another tropical suggestion that was a bit startling. -This was the cast skin of a snake that must have been four inches in -diameter. It was only the white bark of a dead birch that had fallen and -rotted, as to its heart-wood, all away, but the tougher bark remained, -dangling in white folds just as a snake’s skin does when cast. - -But this is not the place to see the swamp cedars at their best. You are -on their gloomy side now. Toward the vivifying sun they turn every -cheerful atom within them and as you look down on them as the sun does -from some near by southern ridge you get the full effect of their -close-set masses of living green and realize the enormous virility -within them. It seems to me that our toughest tree here in eastern -Massachusetts is the red cedar. It grows on storm-swept rock cliffs -where nothing else but lichens can seem to find a foothold. Yet close -behind it I class this dweller in the rich, moist peat bogs. I find that -many botanists do not differentiate this tree that I call swamp cedar -from the red cedar, _Juniperus virginiana_. Yet it is nearer this than -it is to the arbor vitæ which is the so-called cedar of the Maine woods. -But it is not the red cedar in one important particular. It does not -have that wonderful red fragrant heart-wood that the red cedar has. That -alone, it seems to me, should give it a separate standing botanically. -Then its leaves are flatter and more of the arbor vitæ type than those -of the red cedar. And there you have it; but I know what happened. Long -ages ago, when staid and sober evergreens were more frisky than they -are now some particularly handsome young arbor vitæ lass came down from -the north woods and met and loved one of our husky red cedars. How could -she help it? Then there was a secret trip to Providence, or whatever -place was the Gretna Green of those days, and the elopers settled down -in Plymouth County, or perhaps here in Norfolk. That would account for -my white cedar, and it is the only way I can do it. - -I was two miles further toward the Plymouth woods and was broiling a -chop for my dinner on the fork of a witch-hazel stick over the lovely -clear flame of dry white pine limbs, when I came across the second new -thing of my experience in the winter woods. That was black snow. It was -on the northerly edge of an open meadow, a spot so tangled with wild -rose and other slender shrubs that it was next to impossible to -penetrate it. For some reason the south wind had failed to carry off all -the snow here, and a thin coating of it lay on the ground. There was a -bit of open water on the edge of the tangle, and I noticed that this was -covered with a black coating. Going down to look closer I found that the -snow as far as I could look into the meadow was covered with this same -surface, making it fairly black. It looked quite like the soot from -black coal, but when I poked at it with my finger to see if it smutted -it hopped nimbly away. The open pool and the snow all about it was -covered with tiny black fleas or some similar skipping minute insect. I -was curious about these tiny black creatures, and I folded many of them -carefully in a leaf of my note book, creasing the edges firmly so that -I might keep them tight, and put them in my scrip. I intended to put -them under a microscope and see how many legs they had for all this -wonderful skipping; but they had too many for me. When I got home the -paper was blank. They had all skipped. - - - - -AMONG THE MUSKRAT LODGES - - -I always know the sound of the east wind as it comes over the Blue Hills -for the twanging of the bow from which winter has shot his Parthian -arrow. The keenest it is in all his quiver of keen darts, for it -penetrates joints in one’s armor that no gale from Arctic barrens has -been able to reach, that no fall of snow or of temperature has weakened. -Facing it to-day and feeling its barbs turn in the marrow of my -breastbone as I crossed Ponkapoag Pond I began to wonder how it fared -with my friends the muskrats who were wintering in the very teeth of it -over on the northwest shore. And so I turned my shoulder to the blow and -my face to the bog where tepees in a long line spire conically out of -the brown grasses on the bog edge, where the pickerel weed flaunted blue -banners all summer long. - -The thermometer marked a temperature of but a few degrees below -freezing, but it was the coldest day of the winter. The bite of the wind -off Hudson’s Bay is as nothing to the chill which the Arctic sea-water -folds in its unfrozen heart as it sweeps from polar depths down the west -coast of Greenland, along the Labrador shore, round Newfoundland and -down again, shouldering into Massachusetts Bay; the reserve corps of the -winter’s assault, the Old Guard plunging desperately to its Waterloo in -the face of all-conquering spring. This chill the east wind had caught -up from the green depths of the surges he tossed, and made it the poison -of the points which he drove desperately home. Face this wind for a day -and you shall feel the venom working long after you have sought shelter, -nor shall even the cheer of a big open fire drive it easily from your -bones. - -Yet you may draw from the chill this cheer, if you will, that no longer -is the worst yet to come; it is here and soon the prospect must mend. It -seems odd to think that some day next July we shall sniff this frigidity -drawn from the depths of the boreal current, borne on the wings of the -east wind, and revel in the intoxicating ozone with which it soothes our -heat-fevered nostrils. - -Over on the bog edge are twenty-seven lodges, built of bog turf and -roots, dead grass and rushes, almost any rubbish in fact which -Mussascus, as Captain John Smith called him, has been able to get in the -neighborhood. Each has a foundation of some sort; one a stump submerged -in the muck, another a rude framework of alder sticks which the muskrat -cuts with his strong, chisel-like teeth and brings in his mouth as a -beaver would; others variously upheld, but all so placed that the -entrance may be beneath the water and beneath the ice also, however -thick it may freeze. - -Little does the muskrat care for my marrow-piercing east wind. I’ll -wager that he never knows it blows, for rarely indeed at this time of -year does he put his nose out where he might feel it. His stairway leads -from the under-water entrance to a cosy and comfortable nest lined with -soft grass where he and his fellows cuddle. The mud-smeared, -water-soaked material of their walls is frozen to adamant. It is porous -enough in spots to give them air for breathing but does not let the -cold wind enter. It is as snug and safe a place as any one could devise. -An enemy must break through from without and long before he can smash -the frozen walls Mussascus has slipped into the water and gone his way -beneath the ice, first to another tepee, or if driven from that on again -to his burrows in the hard bank a thousand feet away. - -Bending my ear close to the nearest lodge I rapped sharply on the rough -wall and listened. There was no sound. Again I rapped and my knock was -all that disturbed the silence within. Outside the frozen marsh grasses -sawed silkily one on another and the frost crystals that the wind was -sweeping from the thick white ice shrilled infinitesimally as they slid -by, but no sound came from the lodge. Evidently no one was at home. At -the next lodge it was different. The rap was succeeded by a second of -breathless silence, then there was the sound of scrambling, and as I -watched the dark clear ice that always obtains just about the lodge I -saw three silver gleams shoot athwart the clear space and vanish under -the opaque ice just beyond. Three Mussascuses had fled, their dense, -dark, close-set under fur holding the air entangled in its fine fuzz -which is impervious to water, thus accounting for the gleam. - -Like the fur-seal the muskrat has an outer coat of rather coarse hair -and an undervest of much finer, more silky texture. This provides an air -space which enfolds him, however long he remains under water, and its -chill may not reach him nor can the moisture. Only the soles of his feet -and the very tip of his muffle, the nose-pad, are bare. His ears are set -down within his fur, and when he is beneath the surface each holds an -earful of air that catches under-water sounds and transmits them as -faithfully as it does the sounds of the upper world. He swims by -vigorous “dog-paddle” motions of his hind feet, which are large and -furnished with stiff, coarse hair that answers for a webbing between the -toes. Moreover, these feet are “hung-in” a little in a peculiar -club-footed way that makes his gait on land an awkward shamble, but -which allows them to “feather” as an oar does in swimming, thus giving -his propulsive apparatus the greatest possible efficiency. - -People who know Mussascus best differ about the use of his tail. I have -never seen him use it except as a very efficient steering oar, but I -have been told that he sculls with it as a fish does with his, and thus -helps his progress. It is admirably adapted for either purpose, but it -is a tail that does not look as if it belonged to any fur-bearing -animal. It is almost as long as the muskrat himself and has never a hair -from butt to tip. Instead, it is furnished with small stiff scales which -might just as well be those of a snake. It is flattened sidewise and -trimmed down to almost a knife-edge at top and bottom, and the muskrat -uses it most efficiently. - -But however well adapted their feet and tails are for swimming and their -fur for keeping them warm and dry beneath the ice, it would seem as if -the three little soft-furred, brown chaps that I had just driven from -their snug wigwam had a far greater problem to solve than that of warmth -or locomotion. How were they to breathe in the water beneath this -foot-thick coating where was no hole to give them an outlet to the air? -In a few minutes their lungs must have a new supply of oxygen, and if -let alone they are able to get it in a rather curious fashion. Coming up -beneath the ice, they expel the vitiated air, making a bubble which in a -short time absorbs new oxygen from the ice and water; then they -re-breathe it and go on. - -In the early autumn when the ice is thin and clear you may capture -Mussascus by first driving him from his lodge, then following him as he -swims, a silvery streak beneath the ice, till he makes that telltale -bubble. Then go up and hit the ice sharply over the bubble and you drive -the little fellow away from his own breath and drown him. But you would -be unable to play any such mean trick as this along the Ponkapoag bog -edge now, for the muskrats are abundantly provided for, and I believe -they did it themselves. Here and there along by their tepees you find -open breathing holes. These, I am quite sure, the little fellows keep -open, just to be able now and then to take a glimpse at the upper world, -though they do not need them otherwise. But that is not the provision -which I mean. As far along the bog front as the tepees go there are -everywhere big white air-bubbles. From the tepees out into the pond they -show in many places for a distance of a hundred feet or more, and then -cease. Nowhere else in the pond are these bubbles and I believe the -muskrats have stored them here in their various excursions as relays, -providing against just such folk as myself, who might come along, force -them from their homes, and drown them beneath the thick ice covering. -Thus provided, the three that I had driven out would have no trouble in -reaching the most distant tepee or the higher bank beyond the bog edge, -where are their summer burrows. - -Nor need they trouble their minds the winter through about provisions. -Some curious skater or perhaps a would-be fur dealer has been along at -one end of the bog and broken into a number of houses and scattered -others all to bits. A long thaw enabled him to do this, else the winter -had kept them so safe from vandals that only a heavy ax or pick would -give entrance. Among the ruins that this human earthquake caused are fat -roots of the yellow pond lily, the spatter dock, as long as my arm. It -looks as if some of the houses were half built of these petrified -reptiles broken in chunks, scaly looking remnants of a previous -geological age. These are the muskrat’s bread, or perhaps we might -better say his potatoes. Rough and forbidding as they look they are -white and crisp inside, and though their taste is as flat and insipid as -that of a raw potato to you and me the muskrat votes them delicious and -satisfying. The bottom of the pond is stored with them and he has but to -dive and dig, and he even buttresses his winter wigwams with them. - -If he wants something a little more spicy there are spots in the bog, -now safe under water and ice but within easy reach of a submarine like -himself, where grow the pungent roots of the calamus, the sweet flag, of -which he is very fond and which, when dried and sugared, most humans -like to nibble. Stored all along the shallows are his shell-fish, the -fresh water mussels whose thin shells he can easily tear open and whose -white flesh he finds exceedingly toothsome. These, too, are as -available in winter as in summer. Indeed some of his houses are built in -the autumn, not so much for winter homes as restaurants where he may -dine in seclusion on these very mollusks. Quite a distance from the bog, -over in a shallow part of the pond, is a bed of these mussels with a -flat-topped rock near by rising above the surface. Here last fall the -muskrats built a lodge, right on the rock, which they used for this -purpose. The first skaters kicked this lodge to pieces. It was fairly -crammed with the empty shells of many a rare feast, showing that here -Mussascus had undoubtedly entertained his friends in true Bohemian -style. - -So, while I shivered in the searching east wind on the sky side of the -ice, the muskrats were well fed and comfortable in a region of even -higher temperature, a country where the spring, which we say comes up -out of the south, but the muskrat knows wells up out of the ground -beneath, is already at his door. Its warmth is in the bog below and has -softened and even melted the ice all about the tepees. The ice on the -pond is a foot thick still, but the water beneath it is thrilled with -this same potency and you have but to stir it to sniff its fragrance. -Below the pond the brook which is its outlet splashes over the -long-abandoned sills of what was a gristmill dam in the days of the -early settlers. Here in spite of the keen lances of the wind and its -roar in the frozen maples overhead, I heard the soft tones of the coming -season in every babble of the brook. All the air was full of a fresh, -inviting fragrance which the water gives off as it flows. All the pond -is full of it beneath the ice already, and the muskrat breathes it in -his every excursion under the crystal depths. Soon he will abandon the -winter houses, which as soon as the frost leaves them will sag and -flatten and begin to sink into the bog itself, building its outer edge a -little firmer here and there, and thus helping it in its yearly -encroachment on the pond itself. As the ages have gone by, Mussascus has -been a pretty potent factor in this encroachment. - -As the beaver has been a maker of ponds and a conserver of streams, -holding and delaying their waters with his dams, so the muskrat has -helped in the making of meadows and the sanding and grading of pond -edges. The first is done by his winter nests, the second by his summer -burrows which start under water at the pond edge and slant along near -the surface for thirty to fifty feet. Many cubic yards of sand and loam -are dug from these burrows and spread along in the shallows. His river -habits are strong upon him in this work, for he usually makes a delta of -entrances, three or four leading up into the same passage which often -has a wee exit above water, near the edge. Here if you are particularly -fortunate you may in midsummer see his young poke their noses up, -longing for a peek at the great world, before they are big enough to -swim out into it. Here, too, weasel and mink sometimes find entrance and -devour his family. But there are three litters a year, as a rule, so the -occasional weasel serves to keep down a too great increase in the -population. - -His greatest enemy, however, is man, who so pollutes the streams with -sewage and factory refuse that no self-respecting muskrat can live in -many of them, and who hunts him for his fur for the making of automobile -coats. Yet in the case of my Ponkapoag Pond friends man’s hand for once -is for him rather than against. His home there is now a part of the park -system and he may be shot or trapped only under penalty of the law. This -has been so for some years now and I think it explains the numbers of -the winter lodges which are this year greater than ever before. - - - - -THICK ICE - - -In the winter the pond finds a voice. The great sheet of foot-thick, -white ice is like a gigantic disk in a telephone, receiver and -transmitter in one, sending and receiving messages between the earth and -space. Probably these messages pass equally in summer, only the -instruments are so tuned then that our finite ears may not perceive -them; for the surface of the pond has its water disk in the summer no -less than in winter, but an exquisitely thinner and finer one. - -Taking to-day my first canoe trip of the year about the edges where the -imperative orders of the coming spring have opened clear water for a -half-hundred feet, I could not help noticing this thinner disk. The -west wind blew keen, but lightly, and had crowded the ice over toward -the eastern shore, leaving me free northwest passage in sunny shallows -where no ripple disturbed. Every dip of the paddle threw drops of water -on the surface, drops that shone like diamonds in the warm sun, but -sought, always for a time in vain, to reunite with their kindred water. -This invisible barrier held them up and they rolled about without -wetting it, just as they might have on a glossy disk of metal, though -they finally vanished into it. Like the drops the disk was made up of -molecules of water, but the fact that these rested on the very summit of -their fellows and between them and the air seemed to change their -character and give them a property of impenetrability. - -It is this disk of water on water that holds up the summer water -striders, lean and ferocious-looking insects that skip about on the -surface, the tips of their long legs denting it but never being wet. -There is a big black land spider that lives on the water’s edge summers, -who is husky and heavy, yet will run along the surface, galloping and -jumping just as if on a dry and sandy beach and neither falling in nor -wetting his feet. - -When I see the silver dimples that the water strider’s feet make in this -elastic surface and note this land spider galloping across a cove, the -disk of the pond’s summer telephone receiver and transmitter becomes -very real to my eyes. Very likely the under-water people, mullet and -bream and perch, read these messages in summer and know in advance what -the weather is going to be. If not, what is it that stops their feeding -and disturbs them before any rumble of the approaching thunderstorm has -reached my ears? Perhaps in this way they learn of other universe -happenings, if such are the subjects of messages that pass, though I am -not sure of this, for such information as I have been able to intercept -has always referred to approaching meteorological conditions. - -They come to my ears only in winter, after the ice has reached a -thickness of a foot or so, these promptings out of unknown space. -Sometimes you need to be very near the receiver to note them. It is not -possible for a mile-square, foot-thick telephone disk to whisper, yet -often it grumbles only a hoarse word or two at so deep a pitch that you -would hardly know it was spoken. The lowest note on a piano is shrill in -comparison to this tone, audible only when the ear is within a few feet -of the ice. But there are other times when the winter ice on the pond -whoops and roars, and bellows and whangs as if all Bedlam were let loose -and were celebrating Guy Fawkes day. A mile away, of a still winter -evening, you may hear this and be dismayed, for the groanings and -bellowings are such as belong to no monsters of the present day, though -they might be echoes of antedeluvian battles corked within the earth for -ages and now for the first time let loose. - -It is all very simple, of course, says my friend the scientist. It is -caused by vibrations due to the expanding or contracting of the ice, or -the expanding or contracting of a portion of it causing big cracks to -run hither and thither. It means simply that a change in temperature is -going on. - -But does it? Or if so, is that all it means? I crossed the pond not -long ago of a beautiful springlike morning, after the sun had been up -for two hours or more. There was then no voice in the receiver other -than the gentle thrumming caused by the chopping of the fishermen, -making holes wherein to set pickerel traps, nor was there a cloud in the -sky. An hour later the soft haze of a coming warm gale spread over the -horizon to the southward, and as if at the touch of a key the pond began -to speak a word now and then that rapidly changed to full conversation. -From the near hilltop where I stood it was as if I had cut in on a -telephone line where two giants were eagerly talking under conditions -that made the hearing a difficult matter. There was question and answer, -query and interruption and repetition and change of tone from a low -voice to a shout. - -It was humorously like a fellow townsman having trouble with Central so -far as inflection went, but there was a quality in the tone which barred -the human. You had but to listen with closed eyes to know that here -spoke the primal forces of nature. You may hear that same quality in the -voice of a gale at sea. I don’t mean the shrilling of the wind in the -rigging, or the cry of the waters, even, but that burbling undertone of -the upper air currents, growling and shouting at one another as they -roar by far overhead. An Arabian might say these are the voices of -Afrites, journeying through the air to the kingdom of Ethiopia. So even -in the bright sun of that springlike morning these solemn voices of the -winter ice seemed like echoes of messages superhuman, passing from deep -to deep. - -At the time I laid the cause to the changes in temperature produced by -the warmth of the morning sun on the thick ice. Yet the uproar began -after the sun had been shining for an hour or two, and it ceased within -a half-hour. That night came the south blow and a warm storm. - -In the whirligig of our New England winter weather the soft rain and -strong south wind passed. Then the wind blew strong from the northwest -and fair skies and low temperature prevailed for some days, welding the -erstwhile softened ice into an elastic surface as resonant as tempered -steel. Then came a still warm day in which we had the same increase of -temperature under springlike skies as on that previous day. Yet the pond -never uttered a word--audible to my listening human ears. Here were the -conditions like those of the other message period, yet not a word was -said. Even the soft haze which presaged another south blow filled the -sky, so apparently nothing was wanted but the voice at the other end of -the line. It was along in the evening that I heard the first call, -followed rapidly by a great uproar, so that people heard it in their -houses half a mile or more away. Immediately I looked up the -thermometer. The temperature had not changed a degree for hours. Yet -here were the primal forces telephoning back and forth to one another -and fairly making the welkin ring with their hubbub. Surely wires were -crossed somewhere on the ether waves, or else the tempers of the primal -forces themselves were out of sorts. - -I seemed to hear familiar words in their roarings, admonitions to get -farther away from the transmitter, requests for strangers to get off the -line and other little courtesies that pass current in the telephone -booth; and so for a half-hour they kept it up. It was all very ghostly -and disquieting and savoring of the superhuman to listen to it in the -night and wonder what it was all about. At last one or the other giant -hung up the receiver with a tremendous bang, and nothing more was to be -heard but the mutterings of the other, grumbling about it in notes low -and tremendously deep. - -Before morning the wind was blowing a wild gale from the south, rain was -pouring in torrents and we were evidently on the outer edge of a winter -hurricane that had been well up the coast, perhaps as far as Nantucket, -when the pond began to talk about it. No; I do not think changes in -temperature have much to do with it. My explanation for the scientist is -that these noises begin with a drop in the atmospheric pressure, a -region of low barometer moving up in advance of the storm. Taking the -pressure quite suddenly off the ice would start all the air imprisoned -in solution beneath it to pushing upward for a chance to get away. No -wonder it groans and whoops with all that wind in its wame. - -But privately I am not so sure. We have so many sure-thing theories, and -so much definite knowledge to-day that to-morrow is all discredited and -cast aside leaving us groping for another theory, that it is just as -easy to believe myself eavesdropping at telephone talk between giants. -That particular night it sounded to me like Hercules on his way up from -Hades with Cerberus under his arm and a bit over-anxious lest the -deities fail to have the dog pound ready for him on arrival in the upper -regions--but of course that’s pagan myth. Anyway it was a great uproar. -I fancy winter ice makes the same outcry on other ponds, though I never -happened to hear it anywhere else. - -To-day the ice was quiet enough on my side of the pond, though you could -see where it had been at work. With the west wind as team mate it was -dredging and grading over on the east shore. This is the every-day -winter work of thick ice. It picks up big rocks on the beach and carries -them off into deep water or moves them up or down the shore as it sees -fit. But always it pushes back the sand and gravel and stones on low -shores and steadily builds them up till you find wide shallow ridges -between the water’s edge and the slope of the land farther ashore. My -pond is very young, scarcely three-quarters of a century old, yet it -shows marked evidence of this work all along shore. When ice is thick -and the wind strong, especially toward spring when there is apt to be -free water along the edge, you may stand by and see the dredging effect -at work, see the low, long mound of gravel or sand slide backward up the -beach while the edge of the floe crumples and grinds and crumbles, but -still moves irresistibly to its work. - -Over at Ponkapoag Pond, which is perhaps a hundred thousand years older, -the effect of this pushing ice through the ages, working at various -levels, has been to produce mounds and dikes almost beyond belief. -Moreover, these are placed in such situations that it is plain to see -that the water was for the greater part of that long time some feet -higher than now. In my first acquaintance with these ridges I thought -them dikes raised by modern men, early farmers, perhaps, who thus for -some occult reason banked the pond as they surrounded their fields with -the stone fences which last still. No man of to-day, however ardent a -farmer, builds these great barriers between field and field. Yet even -with the stone walls before the eye it is hard to believe that men built -dykes along the pond shore that averaged a hundred feet across and were -in some places much more. A ten-foot bank would do, and it was hard to -believe that so much labor would be willingly wasted. Yet along the -Ponkapoag Pond shore in one place is a barrier many feet high and broad -built, not of sand, but of the rough slate rock of the region, thrown -together loosely in huge rough blocks and tamped with earth. This is so -much bigger than any of the field-enclosing stone walls that it puts the -modern farmer quite out of the question, and on finding it I had -pleasant dreams of a prehistoric race of mound-builders who might have -preceded the Indians in their occupation of the land and have built -these pond embankments for purposes of their own. - -Again my scientific friend disapproves my dream theory in well-chosen -argument that is very convincing--to him. Nevertheless I go my way with -mind equally divided,--between theories as to prehistoric -men-mound-builders and the probabilities of the work having been done by -that great beaver which, according to the Algonquin legend, made the -world out of mud brought up from the bottom of a lake. - -Mind you, I am quite convinced that it is the ice which is doing this on -the Reservoir shore, but Ponkapoag--that is far enough away to be in the -land of legend and all sorts of wonderful things may have happened on -its borders. - -Whatever its work, the ice for this winter has nearly completed it. In -early December its crystalline structure was that of ferns, laid flat -and interwoven, making it strong and elastic. All semblance of these has -vanished, and there remains but a loosely adhering structure built like -the Giant’s Causeway in the north of Ireland of vertical irregular -columns jammed together side by side. Moisture is all between these, and -if the temperature is below freezing cements them firmly together, and -it is safe to walk on the surface. The ice is almost a foot thick still, -but let a warm spring sun in on it, and this cement softens, and what -seems a firm foundation crumbles and fails beneath your foot. All along -the edges to-day the process of disintegration was going on, and you -could hear the little seeping swan song of these ice columns as they -slid apart and lay flat, making mush ice in the open water where they -soon dissolved and disappeared. Thus the ice waits the mandate of the -spring. Some day, soon, it will fall apart as if at a word, and vanish, -and by that token we shall know that the winter has really gone, and we -shall go about in a pleasant glow, listening for the first voice of the -spring frogs. - - - - -INDEX - - -A - -Actias luna, 14 - -Afrite, 243 - -Algonquin, 251 - -Amina, 10 - -Apple tree, 110, 116, 132 - -Arbor vitæ, 210, 211 - -Arctic barrens, 4 - -Arethusa, 155, 201 - -Asplenium trichomanes, 84 - - -B - -Bahamas, 70 - -Barnacle, 165 - -Beaver, 231 - -Bedlam, 242 - -Bee, honey, 36 - -Beech, 98, 101, 119, 120 - -Bermudas, 90 - -Betula alba, 195 - ----- lutea, 195 - -Birch, 8, 10, 13, 71, 103, 112, 118, 135, 139, 149, 188, 210 - -Birch, yellow, 194, 196, 197 - ----- white, 197 - -Blackberry, 17 - -Blueberry, 34, 101 - -Bluebird, 109, 110, 117 - -Blue Hill, 89, 95, 98, 101, 102, 105, 217 - -Bog-hobble, 201 - -Bream, 239 - -Buttercup, 127 - -Buttonball, 101 - - -C - -Calamus, 228 - -Calopogon, 200 - -Callosamia promethia, 14 - -Camelot, 174 - -Carolinas, 92 - -Cassandra, 204, 205 - -Cat, 145, 189 - -Cat-o-nine-tails, 126 - -Cedar, 113, 139, 140, 186, 194 - ----- red, 91, 92, 94, 201, 202, 210 - ----- white, 205, 207, 209, 211 - -Cerberus, 247 - -Cherry, wild, 177 - -Chestnut, 93, 96, 97, 98, 99, 101, 103, 118, 145 - -Chickadee, 7, 117, 120, 121 - -Chicken, 114 - -Chickweed, 69 - -Chipmunk, 181, 183 - -Cranberry, mountain, 95 - -Crow, 110, 111, 112, 117, 143, 144, 145, 183, 185 - - -D - -Dandelion, 69 - -Deer, 143 - -Demoiselle flies, 84 - -Dragon fly, 84 - -Duck, wild, 55 - - -E - -Eliot memorial bridge, 95 - -Ethiopia, 243 - -Ettrick Shepherd, 26 - - -F - -Fern, 51, 52, 70, 104 - ----- Christmas, 77, 78, 84 - ----- cinnamon, 73, 81 - ----- crested shield-, 80 - ----- evergreen wood-, 97, 104 - ----- flowering, 75 - ----- hay-scented, 82 - ----- interrupted, 73 - ----- lady, 83 - ----- maidenhair spleenwort, 84 - ----- ostrich, 71, 74, 81 - ----- polypody, 82, 83, 84, 85, 97, 104, 105 - ----- royal, 76 - ----- seed, 176 - ----- sensitive, 75 - ----- spinulose wood-, 79 - -Flag, blue, 127 - -Flicker, 115, 116, 117 - -Fly, caddice, 163 - ----- house, 30, 31, 32, 33 - -Fox, 33, 143, 145 - -Frog, 142 - - -G - -Galahad, 174 - -Gareth, 199 - -Gerardia, 93 - -Giant’s Causeway, 252 - -Goldenrod, 6, 11, 13, 19, 93, 127 - -Goldfinch, 7, 157 - -Goldthread, 207 - -Goose, wild, 155 - -Gosnold, Bartholomew, 92 - -Grass, purple wood, 95 - -Grasshopper, 114 - -Greenbriar, 100 - -Greenland, 218 - -Grouse, ruffed, 144, 160, 177 - -Gulliver, 143 - -Guy Fawkes, 241 - - -H - -Hancock Hill, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105 - -Hawk, 145 - ----- chicken, 114 - ----- sharp-shinned, 113, 115 - -Hemlock, 195 - -Hepatica, 69 - -Hercules, 247 - -Hickory, 11, 14, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95 - -Hornet, white-faced, 25, 27, 35, 38 - -Houghton’s pond, 96, 102 - -Hudson’s Bay, 218 - -Hylas, 142, 148 - - -I - -Idylls of the King, 199 - -Indian, 251 - - -J - -Juniperus virginiana, 210 - - -K - -Kant, Immanuel, 48 - - -L - -Labrador, 3, 13, 93, 218 - -Ladies’ delights, 68 - -Lemnas, 158 - -Lilliputians, 143 - -Lily, yellow pond-, 227 - -Limpet, 165 - -Loon, 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 63 - -Louisiana, 3 - -Lynette, 199 - - -M - -Maple, 13, 71, 93, 95, 101, 139, 157, 160 - -Mink, 146, 153, 160, 162, 232 - -Moth, luna, 15 - ----- spice-bush silk, 14 - -Mouse, 114, 147 - ----- deer, 180 - ----- field, 133, 148 - ----- meadow, 144 - -Muddy Pond, 200 - -Mullet, 239 - -Muskrat, 2, 18, 21, 217, 220, 224, 226, 228, 229, 230 - -Mussascus, 219, 221, 222, 223, 225, 229, 231 - -Mussel, fresh-water, 228 - - -N - -Nantucket, 246 - -Nebular hypothesis, 47 - -Nephrodium spinulosum, 81 - -Nesæa verticillata, 201 - -Newfoundland, 218 - -Nuthatch, red-breasted, 120, 121, 122 - - -O - -Oak, 13, 14, 17, 120, 126, 134, 142, 148 - ----- black, 140 - ----- red, 95, 118, 131, 140 - ----- scrub, 90, 131, 177 - ----- white, 5, 93, 95, 118 - -Old Guard, 218 - -Orinoco, 193 - -Osmunda regalis, 74 - -Owl, 145 - - -P - -Palm, 51, 52 - -Partridge, 143, 178 - -Partridge berry, 76, 126, 207 - -Perch, 239 - -Pickerel weed, 217 - -Pigeon, 116, 117 - -Pine, 13, 16, 50, 118, 125, 135, 136, 137, 139, 149, 156, 173, 208 - -Pipsissewa, 125 - -Pitcher plant, 200, 204 - -Pleiades, 49 - -Plesiosaurus, 52 - -Polypody, 82, 83, 84, 85, 97, 104, 105 - -Polystichum acrostichoides, 78 - -Ponkopoag pond, 3, 217, 233, 249, 250, 251 - -Pyrola, 76, 126 - - -R - -Rabbit, 131, 133, 134, 143 - -Ranunculus bulbosus, 127, 128 - ----- repens, 127 - -Rat, brown, 148 - -Reservoir Pond, 251 - -Rose, wild, 211 - - -S - -Samia cecropia, 14 - -Scorpion, 28, 29 - -Seal, fur, 222 - -Skunk, 6, 134, 145 - -Smilax, wild, 15 - -Smith, Capt. John, 219 - -Snail, 161 - -Snow, black, 211 - -Snowbird, 8 - -Sparrow, 8 - ----- song, 112, 113, 114, 115, 117 - ----- swamp, 187 - ----- tree, 185 - -Sphagnum, 200, 204, 205 - -Spider, land, 239 - -Squirrel, 121, 133, 143 - ----- gray, 181 - -Stephanotis, 193 - -Stockton, 122 - -Struthiopteris germanica, 72 - -Sweet flag, 17, 228 - - -T - -Tamias striatus, 182 - -Telia polyphemus, 14 - -Teneriffe, 4 - -Tennyson, 200 - -Toad, 161 - -Trout, 146, 161, 162, 163, 164, 166 - -Turkey, 179 - -Turtle, 161 - -Turner, Obadiah, 27 - - -U - -Ulysses, 55 - - -V - -Venezuela, 193 - -Vespa maculata, 26, 35 - -Violet, wood, 13 - - -W - -Wasp, common, 26 - ----- yellow jacket, 26 - -Water-strider, 239 - -Watercress, 163 - -Waterloo, 218 - -Weasel, 145, 162, 232 - -Willow, 16 - -Witch-hazel, 101 - -Woodchuck, 5, 6, 134 - -Woodpecker, downy, 122 - -Wordsworth, 75 - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILDWOOD WAYS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Wildwood Ways</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Winthrop Packard</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 23, 2021 [eBook #66113]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Steve Mattern, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILDWOOD WAYS ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/spine.jpg" -height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" -height="550" alt="[Image of -the book's cover unavailable.]" /></a> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> - -<p class="c"><a href="#CONTENTS">Contents.</a><br /> -<a href="#INDEX">Index.</a></p> -<p class="c"><a href="#ILLUSTRATIONS">List of Illustrations</a><br /> <span class="nonvis">(In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] -clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.)</span></p> - -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c">WILDWOOD WAYS</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_001" style="width: 403px;"> -<a href="images/i_frontis.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="403" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>The muskrats have built higher than common this year</p></div> -</div> - -<h1>WILDWOOD WAYS</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -WINTHROP PACKARD<br /> -<br /> -AUTHOR OF “WILD PASTURES”<br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="120" -alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /><br /><br /> -BOSTON<br /> -SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -PUBLISHERS -<br /><br /><br /><small> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1909</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">By Small, Maynard and Company</span><br /> -<br /> -(INCORPORATED)<br /> -<br /> -<i>Entered at Stationers’ Hall</i><br /> -<br /> -THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.<br /></small><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> author wishes to express his thanks to the “Boston Transcript” for -permission to reprint in this volume matter which was originally -contributed to its columns.</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td><span class="smcap"><small>Page</small></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#SNUGGING-DOWN_DAYS">Snugging-Down Days</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#CERTAIN_WHITE-FACED_HORNETS">Certain White-Faced Hornets</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_23">23</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#THIN_ICE">Thin Ice</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#WINTER_FERN-HUNTING">Winter Fern-Hunting</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#THE_BARE_HILLS_IN_MIDWINTER">The Bare Hills in Midwinter</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#SOME_JANUARY_BIRDS">Some January Birds</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#WHEN_THE_SNOW_CAME">When the Snow Came</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_129">129</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#THE_MINKS_HUNTING_GROUND">The Mink’s Hunting Ground</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_151">151</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#IN_THE_WHITE_WOODS">In the White Woods</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#THE_ROAD_TO_MUDDY_POND">The Road to Muddy Pond</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_191">191</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#AMONG_THE_MUSKRAT_LODGES">Among the Muskrat Lodges</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_215">215</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#THICK_ICE">Thick Ice</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_235">235</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_001">The muskrats have built higher than common this year</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#ill_001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>OPPOSITE PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_002">Their paper fort ... had by September grown to the dimensions of a water-bucket and contained a prodigious swarm of valiant fighters</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_003">There are other feathered folk who seem to delight in the cold</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_004">Here in a little tangle of tiny undergrowth and brown leaves, with a fallen trunk for overhead shelter, you might find him any forenoon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_132">132</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_005">You may ... get a glimpse of the weasel-like head of one lifted above the bank as he sniffs the breeze for game and enemies</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_160">160</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_006">He lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy black neck feathers and strutted</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_179">179</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd1"><a href="#ill_007">He was in and out again in a jiffy</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_182">182</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="SNUGGING-DOWN_DAYS" id="SNUGGING-DOWN_DAYS"></a>SNUGGING-DOWN DAYS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>O-DAY came with a flashing sun that looked through crystal-clear -atmosphere into the eyes of a keen northwest wind that had dried up all -of November’s fog and left no trace of moisture to hold its keenness and -touch you with its chill. It was one of those days when the cart road -from the north side to the south side of a pine wood leads you from -early December straight to early May. On the one side is a nipping and -eager air; on the other sunny softness and a smell of spring. It is more -than that difference of a hundred miles in latitude which market -gardeners say exists between the north and south side of a board fence. -It is like having thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> league boots and passing from Labrador to -Louisiana at a stride.</p> - -<p>On the north side of a strip of woodland which borders the boggy outlet -to Ponkapoag Pond lies a great mowing field, and here among the sere -stubble I stand in the pale shadow of deciduous trees and face the wind -coming over the rolling uplands as it might come across Arctic barrens, -singing down upon the northerly outposts of the timber line. On the -south side the muskrat teepees rise from blue water at the bog edge like -peaks of Teneriffe from the sunny seas that border the Canary Isles. -Such contrasts you may find on many an early December day, when walking -in the rarefied brightness of the open air is like moving about in the -heart of a diamond.</p> - -<p>Yet even the big mowing field shows unmistakable signs of having been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> -snugged down for the winter. Here and there a tree, still afloat in its -brown undulating ocean, seems to be scudding for the shelter of the -forest under bare poles, while the stout white oaks lie to near the -coast under double-reefed courses, the brown leaf-sails still holding to -the lower yards while all the spars above have been blown bare. The -woodchuck paths, that not long ago led from one clover patch to another -and then on to well-hidden holes, lie pale and untravelled, while their -fat owners are snugged down below in warm burrows with their noses -folded in under their forepaws. Tradition has it that they will wake in -a warm spell in midwinter and peer out of their burrows to see what the -prospect of spring may be. Hence, the second of February is not only -Candlemas day, but ground-hog day in rural tradition, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> day on which -the woodchuck is fabled to appear at the mouth of his underground -retreat and look for weather signs, but I don’t know anyone who has ever -seen him do it. You may often find skunk tracks in the snow or mud -during a good midwinter thaw, but I have never seen those of the -woodchuck then, and I am quite confident that he stays snugged down the -winter through.</p> - -<p>Scattered here and there about the borders of the field are groups of -dwarf goldenrod still in full leaf and flower, so far as form goes. The -crowded terminal panicles of bloom bend gracefully towards earth like -stout ostrich plumes, and I think they are more beautiful in the -feathery russet of crowded seed-masses than they were in their September -finery of golden yellow. Their stems are lined with leaves still, but -these have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> lost their sombre green to put on the color of deep seal -brown. It is as if they had donned their sealskin cloaks for winter -wear.</p> - -<p>But all these clumps are doubly protected in another way, not for their -own sake, for they are but dead stems, but for the birds, who will need -their seeds when the snows later in the month shall have covered the -ground far out of their reach. All the autumn the winds have been -whirling dry leaves back and forth, and each clump has trapped them -cunningly till the slender stems that might otherwise be buried and -broken by the snow are reënforced on all sides by elastic leaves that -will hold them bravely up. Here is an open larder, a free-lunch counter -for the goldfinches and chickadees of next January. Here they may glean -and glean again, for except they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> be plucked by eager beaks some of -these seeds will not let go their grip on the receptacles till spring -rains loosen them and the ground is fit for their sowing.</p> - -<p>Everywhere in wood and pasture the numbers of seeds of plants and trees -that are thus held waiting the winter gleaners are incomputable; nor -will these need to seek them on the plant itself, for little by little -as the winter winds come and go they will loose their hold and scatter -themselves about as we scatter crumbs for the snow-birds and sparrows. -Here are the birches, for instance, holding fast still to their wealth. -If bursting spring buds could be gray-brown in color instead of -sage-green we well might think the trees had another almanac than our -own and that with them it was late April, for wherever the trees are -silhouetted against the light we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> see every twig decorated with new -life. It is new life, indeed, but not that of spring leaves. Every tree -has a thousand cones, and every cone is packed with tiny seeds about a -central core of stiff fibre that is like a fine wire.</p> - -<p>Holding the seeds tight in their places are little flat scales, having -an outline like that of a conventionalized fleur-de-lis or somewhat like -tiny flying birds. The whole is so keyed by the tip that as they hang -head down it is possible to dislodge only the topmost scales and seeds. -A very vigorous shake of the tree sends a cloud of these flying, but -when you look at the tree you find that not a thousandth part of its -store has been dispensed. When the midwinter snows lie deep all about, -the paymaster wind will requisition these stores as needed for the tiny -creatures of the wood and scatter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> them wide on the white surface, till -it will look as if spiced by the confectioner, so well does the forest -take care of its own. The Lady Amina of the Arabian tale picking single -grains of rice at the banquet might not seem to dine more daintily. The -spring will be near at hand when the last of these birch seeds will have -been dispensed. Thus innumerable graneries are stored the woodland and -pasture through, so lightly locked that all may pilfer, and so -abundantly filled, pressed down and running over that there shall be no -lack in either quantity or variety.</p> - -<p>Far other and stranger forms of winter-guarding forethought are to be -seen all about the big mowing field and in the coppices that divide it -from the open marsh and the pond shore, if we will but look for them. In -many places<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> has witchery been at work as well as forethought, and -strange and unaccountable things have been brought to pass that tiny -creatures may be kept safe until spring. Here and there among the -goldenrod stems you find one that is swollen to the size of a hickory -nut, a smooth globe which is merely the stem expanded from the diameter -of a toothpick to three-quarters of an inch. When I split this bulb with -my knife I find it made up of tough pith shot through with the growing -fibres of the plant, but having a tiny hollow in the centre.</p> - -<p>Here, snugly ensconced and safe from all the cold and storms, is a lazy -creature so fat that he looks like a globular ball of white wax. Only -when I poke him does he squirm, and I can see his mouth move in protest. -His fairy language is too fine for my ear, tuned to the rough<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> accents -of the great world, but if I am any judge of countenances he is saying: -“Why, damme, sir! how dare you intrude on my privacy!”</p> - -<p>After all he has a right to be indignant, for I have not only wrecked -his winter home, but turned him out, unclothed and unprotected, to die -in the first nip of the shrewish wind. Unmolested he would have -leisurely enlarged his pith hall by eating away its substance and in the -spring have bored himself a cunning hole whence he might emerge, spread -tiny wings and enjoy the sunshine and soft air of summer. His own -transformations from egg to grub, from grub to gall-fly, are curious -enough; yet stranger yet and far more savoring of magic is the growth of -his winter home. By what hocus-pocus the mother that laid him there made -the slender stem of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> goldenrod grow about him this luxurious home, -is known only to herself and her kindred, and until I learn to hear and -translate the language which the grub used in swearing at me when I -broke into his home, it is probable that I shall still remain ignorant.</p> - -<p>But let us leave Labrador and let ourselves loose upon Louisiana, for we -may do it in five minutes. The oaks and the pines, the maples, the -birches and the shrubs of the close-set thickets which guard the bog -edge, I know not what straining and restraining power they have upon -this keen wind, but when it has filtered through them it has lost its -shrewishness and, meeting the warm embrace of the low hung sun, bears -aromas of spring. It is as if wood violets had shot his garments full of -tiny odors of April as he traversed the wood, or per<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span>haps the perpetual -magic of life which seems to well up from swampy woodland had seized -upon him as it seizes upon all that passes and made him the bearer of -its potency. Across the bog to the pond outlet, through this spring-soft -atmosphere lies a slender road, lined with thickets, where I do not -wonder the <i>Callosamia promethia</i>, the spice-bush silk-moth, likes to -spin his own winter snuggery and dangle in the soft air till the real -spring taps at his silken doorway and soft rains lift the latch and let -him out.</p> - -<p>Not far away, among the leaves that lie ankle deep among the shrubbery -that skirts the hickories and oaks, are the cocoons of <i>Actias luna</i>; -among them, shed from the oaks, are those of <i>Telia Polyphemus</i>, and if -I seek, it is not difficult to find the big pouch where <i>Samia<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> -cecropia</i> waits for the same call. Some May evening there shall be a -brave awakening in the glades and on the borders of the bog. It shall be -as if the tans and pinky purples and rose and yellow of the finest -autumn leaves took wing again in the spring twilight and floated about -at will owing nothing to the winds, and then the luna moth, the fairy -queen of dusk, all clad in daintiest green trimmed with ermine and seal -and ostrich plumes, shall come among them and reign by right of such -beauty as the night rarely sees, all this sprung from the papery cocoons -swung in the roadside bushes or tumbled neglectfully among the shifting -autumn leaves in the tangle at the roots of the wild smilax.</p> - -<p>Here is magic for you, indeed, of the kind that the parlor magician is -wont to supply; frail and beautiful things grown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> at a breath, almost, -from obscure and trivial sources. Yet I seem to find a more potent if -less spectacular witchery in what has been done to the willows that here -and there grow in the thicket that borders the slender bog road. Some -winged sprite has touched their branch tips with fairy wand and -whispered a potent word to them, and the willows have obeyed and grown -cones! These are an inch or more in length and as perfect with scales as -those of the pines up in the wood. But there are no seeds of willow life -in them. Instead there is at the core an orange-yellow, minute grub, the -larva of a fly that stung the willow tip last spring and, stinging it, -laid her egg therein.</p> - -<p>That the egg should become a grub and that later the grub in turn should -become a fly is nothing in the way of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> magic, or that it should fatten -in the meanwhile on willow fibre. The necromancy comes in the fact that -every willow tip that is made the home of this grub should thenceforth -forsake all its recognized methods of growth and produce a cone for the -harboring of the grub during the winter’s cold. There are many varieties -of these gall-producing insects. The oaks still hold spherical -attachments to their leaves, produced in the same way. Look among your -small fruits and you will find the blackberry stems swollen and -tuberculous from a similar cause, and full of squirming life. It is all -necromancy out of the same book, the book of the witchery of insects -that makes human life and growth seem absurdly simple by comparison. The -snugging down of the open world in preparation for winter is full of -such tales, and he who runs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> through the wood on such a day in December -may read them.</p> - -<p>Standing in the spring-like warmth at the pond outlet and looking down -the line where bog meets water I can count the dark peaks of the muskrat -teepees, receding like a coast range toward the other shore. The -muskrats have built higher than common this year, because, I fancy, they -expect much water, having had it low all summer and fall. Some of them -are half as high as I am and must have cost tremendous labor in tearing -out the marsh roots and sods and collecting them thus in pyramidal form. -Their roads run hither and yon across the bog and are so well travelled -that the travellers must be numerous as well as active. They have laid -in a store of lily roots and sweet-flag for the winter, and their -underwater entrances lead upward to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> quarters that are dry and snug. -Here they are as secure from frost as was the white grub that I hewed -from his pith hall in the goldenrod stem. When the ice is thick all -about, their house will be as hard of outside wall as if built of black -adamant yet their water-entrance will be free, beneath the ice, and they -will go to and fro by it, seeking supplies or perhaps making friendly -calls.</p> - -<p>All the morning the marsh grass billowed and the water sparkled, one to -another, about their houses, and if you listened to the grass you might -hear its fine little sibilant song, a soft susurrus of words whose only -consonant is s, set to a sleepy swing. It is a song that seems to -harmonize with the fine tan tones of the bog as they fade into silvery -white where the sun reflects from smooth spears. Over on the distant -hillside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> pines, navy blue under cloud shadows, hummed in the wind -like bassoons; distant and muted cornets sang clear in the maples, and -all about the feathery heads of the olive swamp cedars you caught the -faint shrilling of fifes if you would but listen intently. Now and then -the glocken-spiel tinkled in mellow yellow notes among the dry reeds on -the marge, but these echoed but familiar runes. The tan-white bog grass -that is so wild it never heard the swish of scythe, sang, soft and -sibilant, an elfin song of the lonely and untamed.</p> - -<p>With the singing of the wind into the tender spring of the south side -the day grew cold with clouds. The sky was no longer softly blue, but -gray and chilling, the pond lost its sparkle and grew purple and numb -with cold, and all among the bare limbs you heard the song of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span> -promise of snow. But the clouds stopped at a definite line in the west -and at setting the sun dropped below this and sent a golden flood -rolling through the trees that mark the boundary between field and pond, -lighting up all the bog with glory and gilding the muskrat teepees and -the tall bog grass and the distant trees across the water till all the -sere and withered leaves were bathed in serenity, as softly and serenely -bright as if the golden age had come to us all. In this wise the crystal -day, with its sheltered exultation of spring and its gray promise of -winter’s snow all fused into one golden delight of sunset glory, marched -on over the western hills trailing paths of gilded shadow behind it -along which one walked the homeward way as if into the perfect day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="CERTAIN_WHITE-FACED_HORNETS" id="CERTAIN_WHITE-FACED_HORNETS"></a>CERTAIN WHITE-FACED HORNETS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE lonesomest spot in all the pasture, the one which the winter has -made most vacant of all, is the corner where hangs the great gray nest -of the white-faced hornets. Its door stands hospitably open but it is no -longer thronged with burly burghers roaring to and fro on business that -cannot wait. It was wide enough for half a dozen to go and come at the -same time, yet they used to jostle one another continually in this -entrance, so great was the throng of workers and so vigorous the energy -that burbled within them. While the warm sun of an August day shines a -white-faced hornet is as full of pent forces, striving continually to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> -burst him, as a steam fire-engine is when the city is going up in flame -and smoke and the fire chief is shouting orders through the megaphone -and the engineer is jumping her for the honor of the department and the -safety of the community. He burbles and bumps and buzzes and bursts, -almost, in just the same way.</p> - -<p>It is no wonder that people misunderstand such roaring energy, driving -home sometimes too fine a point, and speak of <i>Vespa maculata</i> and his -near of kin the yellow jackets, and even the polite and retiring common -black wasp, with dislike. In this the genial Ettrick Shepherd, high -priest of the good will of the open world, does him, I think, much -wrong. “O’ a’ God’s creatures the wasp,” he says, “is the only one that -is eternally out of temper. There’s nae sic thing as pleasing him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>This opinion is so universal that there is little use in trying to -controvert it, and yet these white-faced hornets which I have known, if -not closely, at least on terms of neighborliness, do not seem to merit -this opprobrium. That they are hasty I do not deny. They certainly brook -no interference with their right to a home and the bringing up of the -family. But I do not call that a sign of ill temper; I think it is -patriotism.</p> - -<p>Probably the trouble with most of us is that we have happened to come -into quite literal contact with white-face after the fashion of one of -the early explorers of the country about Massachusetts Bay. Obadiah -Turner, the English explorer and journalist, thus chronicles the -adventure in the quaint phraseology of the year 1629.</p> - -<p>“Ye godlie and prudent captain of ye<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> occasion did, for a time, sit on -ye stumpe in pleasante moode. Presentlie all were hurried together in -great alarum to witness ye strange doing of ye goode olde man. Uttering -a lustie screme he bounded from ye stumpe and they, coming upp, did -descrie him jumping aboute in ye oddest manner. And he did lykwise puff -and blow his mouthe and roll uppe his eyes in ye most distressful waye.</p> - -<p>“All were greatlie moved and did loudlie beg of him to advertise them -whereof he was afflicted in so sore a manner, and presentlie, he -pointing to his foreheade, they did spy there a small red spot and -swelling. Then did they begin to think yt what had happened to him was -this, yt some pestigeous scorpion or flying devil had bitten him. -Presentlie ye paine much abating he saide yt as he sat on ye stumpe he -did spye upon ye<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> branch of a tree what to him seemed a large fruite, ye -like of wch he had never before seen, being much in size and shape like -ye heade of a man, and having a gray rinde, wch as he deemed, betokened -ripenesse. There being so manie new and luscious fruites discovered in -this fayer lande none coulde know ye whole of them. And, he said, his -eyes did much rejoice at ye sight.</p> - -<p>“Seizing a stone he hurled ye same thereat, thinking to bring yt to ye -grounde. But not taking faire aime he onlie hit ye branch whereon hung -ye fruit. Ye jarr was not enow to shake down ye same but there issued -from yt, as from a nest, divers little winged scorpions, mch in size -like ye large fenn flies on ye marshe landes of olde England. And one of -them, bounding against hys forehead did give in an instant a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> -terrible stinge, whereof came ye horrible paine and agonie of wch he -cried out.”</p> - -<p>Let go on the even tenor of his home-building and home-keeping way, -white-face is another creature. One of his kind used to make trips to -and from my tent all one summer, and we got to be good neighbors. At -first I viewed him with distrust and was inclined to do him harm, but he -dodged my blow and without deigning to notice it landed plump on a -house-fly that was rubbing his forelegs together in congratulatory -manner on the tent roof. He had been mingling with germs of superior -standing, without doubt, this house-fly, but his happiness over the -success of the event was of brief duration. There came from his wings -just one tenuous screech of alarm followed by an ominous silence of as -brief duration. Then came the deep roar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> of the hornet’s propellers as -he rounded the curve through the tent door and gave her full-speed ahead -on the home road. An hour later he was with me again, had captured -another fly almost immediately, and was off. He came again, many times a -day, and day after day, till I began to know him well and follow his -flights with the interest of an old friend.</p> - -<p>He never bothered me or anyone else. He had no time for men; the capture -of house-flies was his vocation and it demanded all his energy and -attention. In fact that he might succeed it was necessary that he should -put his whole soul into earnest endeavor, for he was not particularly -well equipped for his work. He had neither speed nor agility as compared -with his quarry, and if house-flies can hear and know what is after -them, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> roar of his machinery, even at slowest speed, must have given -them ample warning. It was like a freighter seeking to capture torpedo -boats. They could turn in a circle of a third the radius of his and -could fly three miles to his one, yet he was never a minute in getting -one.</p> - -<p>I think they simply took him for an enlarged edition of their own kind -and never knew the difference until his mandibles gripped them. He used -to go bumbling and butting about the tent in a near-sighted excitement -that was humorous to the onlooker. He didn’t know a fly from a hole in -the tentpole, and there was a tack in the ridgepole whose head he -captured in exultation and let go in a sort of slow wonder every time he -came in. He got to know me as part of the scenery and didn’t mind -lighting on top of my head in his quest, and he never thought of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> -stinging me. I timed his visits one sunny, still day and found that he -arrived once in forty seconds. But this was only under most favorable -weather conditions. A cloud over the sun delayed him and in wet weather -he was never to be seen.</p> - -<p>His method with the fly in hand was direct and effective. The first buzz -was followed by the snip-snip of his shear-like maxillaries. You could -hear the sound and immediately see the gauzy wings flutter slowly to the -tent floor. If the fly kicked much his legs went in the same way. Then -white-face took a firmer grip on his prize and was off with him to the -nest. The bee line is spoken of as a model of mathematical directness, -but the laden bee seeking the hive makes no straighter course than did -my hornet to his nest in the berry bush down in the pasture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p> - -<p>Flies were plentiful and, knowing how many hornets there are in a nest, -I expected at first that he would bring companions and perhaps overwhelm -my hospitality with mere numbers, but he did nothing of the kind. I have -an idea that he was detailed to the fly catching work just as other -workers were busy gathering nectar and honey dew for the young and -others still were nest and comb building. Later in the summer another -did come, but I am convinced that he happened on the other’s game -preserve by accident and was not invited. The two between them must have -captured thousands of flies and carried them off alive to their nest.</p> - -<p>Thus their paper fort, hung from the twigs of a blueberry bush, had by -September grown to the dimensions of a water-bucket and contained a -prodigious</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_002" style="width: 493px;"> -<a href="images/i_034.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_034.jpg" width="493" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>Their paper fort had by September grown to the dimensions of a -water-bucket and contained a prodigious swarm of valiant fighters</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">swarm of valiant fighters and mighty laborers, so much will persistent -labor, even by near-sighted, dunder-headed hornets, accomplish. I say -near-sighted, for the two specimens of <i>Vespa maculata</i> who used to hunt -flies in my tent were certainly that. I say also dunder-headed, for if -not that they would have learned eventually the location of that tack -head and ceased to capture it. Barring these failings, no doubt -congenital, I know of no pasture people who show greater virtues or more -of them than the white-faced hornets.</p> - -<p>The weak beginnings of their great community home in the berry bush were -made in early May when a single lean and hungry queen mother crept from -a crevice in the heart of a great hollow chestnut where she had survived -the winter. She sunned herself for a time at the opening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> then began -eagerly chewing fibre from a gray and bare dead limb near by. She chewed -this and when it was softened to a pulp she flew straight to the berry -bush and began her long summer’s work. Laboring patiently she made and -brought enough of the paper pulp moistened with her own saliva to form a -nest half the size of an egg containing just a few cells in a single -comb that was horizontal and opened downward. In these she laid an egg -each, worker’s eggs.</p> - -<p>Always the first brood is of workers only, and it would seem that the -mother hornet is able by some strange necromancy to lay an egg which -shall produce, as she wills, a worker, a drone or another queen, for the -hornet hive, like that of the honey-bee, has the three varieties. While -these eggs hatch she completes the nest and then begins feeding the -funny<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> little white maggots which hang head down in the cells, stuck to -the top by a sort of glue which was deposited with the egg.</p> - -<p>Honey and pollen is the food which the youngsters receive, varied as -they grow up with a meat hash of insects caught by the mother and chewed -fine. Soon they fill the cells, stop eating, and spin for themselves a -sort of silk night shirt and a cap with which they close the mouth of -the cell. Here they remain quiet for a few days, changing from grub to -winged creature as does a butterfly during the chrysalis stage of its -existence.</p> - -<p>Those were busy days for the queen mother, for she had the work and the -care of the whole wee hive on her hands, and she showed herself capable -not only of doing her own feminine part in the hive economy, but that of -half a dozen work<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>ers as well, making paper, doing construction work, -finding and bringing honey and pollen and insects for the food of the -young grubs, and finally helping them cut away the seals to the cells -and grasping the young hornets in her mandibles and hauling them out of -their comb.</p> - -<p>These young hornets washed their faces, cleaned their antennæ, ate one -more free meal and set to work. Thereafter the queen mother, having -reared her retinue, worked no more, but kept the hive and produced -worker eggs as new cells were provided for them, now and then perhaps -feeding the children when the workers were busiest.</p> - -<p>The first care of the new-born workers was to clean out the once used -cells and to build new ones. But there was no room for new comb within -the thin paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> envelope which the mother had built as a first hive. -They therefore cut this away, chewing it to pulp again, and building new -cells with a larger covering all about them. Then below the first comb -they hung a second by paper columns so that there was space for them to -pass between the two, standing on top of one comb while they fed the -young hanging head down in the comb above.</p> - -<p>They also added cells to the sides of the old comb, making it much -wider. The first little round egg-shaped nest was all of one color, a -soft gray, but the new additions are apt to be lighter or darker in -color, according to the idiosyncrasies of the individual worker. Some -indeed have a faint touch of brown when newly added to the structure -though these soon fade, yet you may recognize always the dividing line -between one horne<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span>t’s work and another’s by the difference in shade.</p> - -<p>Thus the work went on during the summer, more cells being added to the -existing combs, new combs being hung below, and always the surrounding -envelope being cut away and replaced to accommodate the internal growth. -Late August saw the last additions made. The hive then roared with life. -The summer had been a good one and food was plentiful. Under the bounty -of fierce summer heat and ample food the workers had developed a new -faculty.</p> - -<p>I have given them the masculine pronoun in speaking of them, for they -certainly seemed to deserve it. Surely only males could be at once so -sharp and so blunt, so burly, so strenuous and so devoid of interest in -anything but their work. Yet it is a fact that in August<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> some of the -workers began to lay eggs, and if the old proverb that “Like produces -like” holds good they still deserve the masculine pronoun, for these -eggs produced only males.</p> - -<p>At the same time the queen began to lay eggs which were destined to -produce other queens. How all this could have been known about -beforehand it is hard to tell, but such must have been the fact, for the -cells in which these eggs were to be laid were made larger than the -others as the greater size of males and females requires.</p> - -<p>Thus the climax of the work of the great paper hive was reached. The new -queens had been safely reared and had reached maturity when the first -chill days of autumn came. These days brought rain, and the change from -bustling life to silence was most startling. Almost in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> a day the hive -was deserted. It was as if the entire colony had swarmed, and so they -had, but not as a hive of bees swarms. They had left the old home never -to return, but not as a colony seeking a new land in which to prosper. -The first chill of autumn laid the cold hand of death on their busy -life. They went away as individuals and stopped, numbed with cold, -wherever the chill caught them.</p> - -<p>Where they went it is hard to say, but one hornet or a thousand crawling -into a crevice to escape the cold is easily lost in the great world of -out-of-doors. No worker survives the winter. I think the intensity of -their labors during the summer, the continued use of that energy that -bubbles within them all summer long, exhausts them and they succumb -easily, worked out. With the young queens it is different. Their work is -yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> to come, and the strong young life within them gives them vitality -to endure the winter, though seemingly frozen stiff in their crevices. -Yet only a few of these come through in safety. If the queens of one -hive all built next year, the pasture would be a far too busy place for -mere man to visit.</p> - -<p>It is just as well as it is, yet I am glad that each year sees at least -one queen white-face pulp-making in the May sun. Pasture life without -her uproarious progeny would lack spice. The great gray nest is pathetic -in its emptiness, and I am glad to forget it and its bustling throng, -remembering only the one busy worker that used to come into the tent -and, having caught his fly, hang head downward from ridge-pole or -canvas-edge by one hind foot while all his other feet were busy holding -his lamb for the shearing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THIN_ICE" id="THIN_ICE"></a>THIN ICE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>OWARD midnight the pond fell asleep. All day long it had frolicked with -the boisterous north wind, pretending to frown and turn black in the -face when the cold shoulders of the gale bore down upon its surface, -dimpling as the pressure left it and sparkling in brilliant glee as the -low hung sun laughed across its ruffles. The wind went down with the -sun, as north winds often do, and left a clear mirror stretching from -shore to shore, and reflecting the cold yellow of the winter twilight.</p> - -<p>As this chill twilight iced into the frozen purple of dusk, tremulous -stars quivered into being out of the violet blackness of space. The -nebular hypoth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span>esis is born again in the heavens each still winter -night. It must have slipped thence into the mind of Kant as he stood in -the growing dusk of some German December watching the violet-gray frost -vapors of the frozen sky condense into the liquid radiance of early -starlight, then tremble again into the crystalline glints of unknown -suns whirling in majestic array through the full night along the myriad -miles of interstellar space.</p> - -<p>Standing on the water’s edge on such a night you realize that you are -the very centre of a vast scintillating universe, for the stars shine -with equal glory beneath your feet and above your head. The earth is -forgotten. It has become transparent, and where before sunset gray sand -lay beneath a half-inch of water at your toe-tips, you now gaze downward -through infinite space to the nadir,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> the unchartered, unfathomable -distance checked off every thousand million miles or so by unnamed -constellations that blur into a milky way beneath your feet. The pond is -very deep on still winter nights.</p> - -<p>If you will take canoe and glide out into the centre the illusion is -complete. There is no more earth nor do the waters under the earth -remain; you float in the void of space with the Pleiades for your -nearest neighbor and the pole star your only surety. In such situations -only can you feel the full loom of the universe. The molecular theory is -there stated with yourself as the one molecule at the centre of -incomputability. It is a relief to shatter all this with a stroke of the -paddle, shivering all the lower half of your incomputable universe into -a quivering chaos, and as the shore looms black and uncertain in the -bitter chill it is never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>theless good to see, for it is the homely earth -coming back to you. You have had your last canoe trip of the year, but -it has carried you far.</p> - -<p>No wonder that on such a night the pond, falling asleep for the long -winter, dreams. A little after midnight it stirred uneasily in its sleep -and a faint quiver ran across its surface. A laggard puff of the north -wind that, straggling, had itself fallen asleep in the pine wood and -waked again, was now hastening to catch up. The surface water had been -below the freezing point for some time and with the slight wakening the -dreams began to write themselves all along as if the little puff of wind -were a pencil that drew the unformulated thoughts in ice crystals. Water -lying absolutely still will often do this. Its temperature may go some -degrees below the freezing point<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> and it will still be unchanged. Stir -it faintly and the ice crystals grow across it at the touch.</p> - -<p>Strange to tell, too, the pond’s dreams at first were not of the vast -universe that lay hollowed out beneath the sky and was repeated to the -eye in its clear depths. Its dreams were of earth and warmth, of -vaporous days and humid nights when never a frost chill touched its -surface the long year through, and the record the little wind wrote in -the ice crystals was of the growth of fern frond and palm and -prehistoric plant life that grew in tropic luxuriance in the days when -the pond was young.</p> - -<p>These first bold, free-hand sketches touched crystal to crystal and -joined, embossing a strange network of arabesques, plants drawn -faithfully, animals of the coal age sketched in and suggested only,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> -while all among the figures great and small was the plaided level of -open water. This solidified, dreamless, about and under the decorations, -and the pond was frozen in from shore to shore. Thus I found it the next -morning, level and black under one of those sunrises which seem to -shatter the great crystal of the still atmosphere into prisms. The cold -has been frozen out of the sky, and in its place remains some strange -vivific principle which is like an essence of immortality.</p> - -<p>New ice thus formed has a wonderful strength in proportion to its -thickness. It is by no means smooth, however. The embossing of the -reproductions of these pond dreams of fern and palm and plesiosaurus -makes hubbles under your steel as you glide over it, though little you -care for that on your first skate of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> year. The embossing it is, I -think, that largely gives it its strength, and though it may crack and -sag beneath you as you strike out, you know that its black texture is -made up of interlacing crystals that slip by one another in the bending, -but take a new grip and hold until your weight fairly tears them apart.</p> - -<p>The small boy knows this instinctively and applies it as he successfully -runs “teetley-bendoes” to the amazement and terror of the uninitiated -grown-ups. If you have the heart of the small boy still, though with an -added hundred pounds in weight, you may yet dare as he does and add to -the exhilaration born of the wine-sweet air the spice of audacity. An -inch or so of transparent ice lies between you and a ducking among the -fishes which dart through the clear depths, fleeing before the under -water roar of your ad<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span>vance, for the cracks, starting beneath your feet -and flashing in rainbow progress before you and to the right and left, -send wild vibrations whooping and whanging through the ice all over the -pond. Now the visible bottom drops away beneath you to an opaqueness -that gives you a delicious little sudden gasp of fear, for you realize -the depth into which you might sink; again it rises to meet you and here -you may bear down and gain added impetus, for you know that the ice will -be thicker in shallow water.</p> - -<p>So you go on, and ever on. It is not wise to retrace your strokes, for -those ice crystals that gave to let you through and then gripped one -another again to hold you up may not withstand a second impact; nor is -it wise to stop. Mass and motion have given you momentum and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> you have -acquired some of the obscure stability of the gyroscope. You tend to -stay on your plane of motion, though the ice itself has strength to hold -only part of your weight. Thus the wild duck, threshing the air with -mighty strokes, glides over it, held up by the same obscure force. The -ice has no time to break and let you through. You are over it and onto -another bit of uncracked surface before it can let go.</p> - -<p>The day warmed a little with a clear sun but the frost that night bit -deep again and the next morning the ice had nearly doubled in thickness -and would not crack under any strain which my weight could put upon it. -A second freezing, even though both be thin, gives a stronger ice than a -single freezing of equal depth, just as the English bowmaker of the old -days used to glue to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span>gether a strip of lancewood and a strip of yew, or -even two strips of the same wood, thus making a far stiffer bow than one -made of a single piece of equivalent dimensions.</p> - -<p>This ice was much smoother too. That evaporation which is steadily going -on from the surface of ice even in the coldest weather, the crystals -passing to vapor without the intervening stage of water, had worn off -the embossing. The ice instead of being black was gray with countless -air bubbles all through its texture. You will always find these after a -day’s clear sun on a first freezing. I fancy the ice crystals make -minute burning glasses under the sun’s rays and thus cause tiny meltings -within its own bulk, the steam of the fusing making the bubbles; or it -may be that the air with which the north wind of two days before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> had -been saturating the water was thus escaping from solution.</p> - -<p>It was midday of this second day of skating weather before I reached the -pond. The sky was overcast, the wind piped shrill again, and there were -snow-squalls about. The pond was empty and lone. I thought no living -creature there beside myself, and it was only at the second call of a -familiar voice that I believed I heard it. Then, indeed, I stopped and -listened up the wind. It came again, a wild and lonely whistle that was -half a shout, beginning on the fifth of the scale, sliding to the top of -the octave, and then to a third above, and I heard it with amazement. -The pond was firmly covered with young ice. Why should a loon be sitting -out on it and hooting to me?</p> - -<p>There was silence for a space while I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> looked in vain, for the first -flakes of a snow-squall were whitening the air and had made the distant -shore indistinct. Then it spoke again, almost confidentially, that still -lonely but more pleasing whinny, a sort of “Who-who-who-who” that is -like a tremulous question, weird laughter, or a note of pain as best -fits the mind of the listener. The voice came from the geographical -centre of the pond’s loneliness, the one point where a wild bird like -the loon, obliged to make a stand, would find himself farthest from all -frequented shores. I skated up the wind in that direction, but the snow -blew in my eyes and I could see but little.</p> - -<p>Suddenly right in front of me there was a wild yell of dismay, despair -and defiance all mingled in a single loon note, but so clearly expressed -that you could not fail to recognize them, then a quick<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> splash, and I -had almost skated into a hole in the ice, perhaps some ten feet across.</p> - -<p>Then I knew what had happened. A loon, wing-tipped by some poor -marksman, had dropped into the pond before the freeze. He could dive and -swim, no doubt, as well as ever but could not leave the water. When the -pond began to freeze he did the only thing possible in his losing fight. -That was to seek the loneliest spot in the surface and keep an opening -in the ice when it began to form. I could see the fifteen-foot circle -which had been his haven for the first night and day. Then with the -second freezing night he had been obliged to shorten this. Two feet and -a half of new ice showed his inner line of defence rimmed accurately -within the greater circle and showing much splashing where he had, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> -thought, breasted it desperately all the long night in his brave fight -to keep it open.</p> - -<p>How long without human intervention he might brave the elements and keep -his narrowing circle unfrozen would of course depend on the weather. If -it did not come on too severe he might live on there till his wing -healed and by a miracle win again to flight and safety. The cold would -not trouble him nor the icy water. The loon winters anywhere from -southern Massachusetts south and, strong and well, has no fear of -winter. But there entered into this the human equation. The next man -along would likely go home and get a shotgun.</p> - -<p>As I noted all this a head appeared above the water in the pool. There -was another shriek of alarm and it vanished in a flash and a splash. It -was forty sec<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span>onds by my watch before the bird appeared again. This time -he rose almost fully to the surface and sounded a war cry, then dove -again and was under for seventy seconds. And so as long as I stood my -distance motionless he came and went, never above water for more than a -few seconds, varying in length of time that he stayed below from half a -minute to a minute and a quarter, and never going below without sounding -the eerie heartbreak of his call.</p> - -<p>Then I skated away to get my camera and was gone three-quarters of an -hour. Returning I saw him in the distance, for the snow had almost -passed. He saw me too and dived. Gliding up I knelt at the very edge of -the hole and was fixing the camera when he came up. He sat level on the -surface for a second, seemingly not noticing me. Then, warned by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> a -motion that I made in trying to adjust the focus, he sounded a wild and -plaintive call that seemed to have in it mingled fear and defiance, -heartbreak and triumph, and plunged beneath the surface with a vigor and -decision that sent him far beneath the ice, his great webbed feet -driving him with great jumps, as a frog swims.</p> - -<p>I saw him shoot away from the hole, trailing bubbles. I waited kneeling, -watch in hand and thumb on bulb, a minute, two minutes, three, five, -ten. The snow shut in again thick, the north wind sang a plaintive dirge -and I realized that the picture would never be taken. Instead I was -kneeling at the deathbed of a wild Northern spirit that perhaps -deliberately took that way of ending the unequal struggle.</p> - -<p>The loon knows not the land. Even<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> his nest he builds on the water’s -edge and clambers awkwardly to it with wings and bill as well as feet. -The air and water are his home, the water far more than the air, and he -knows the underwater world as well as he does the surface. I shall never -know whether my loon went so far in his flight beneath the ice that he -failed to find his way back, or whether his strength gave out. Knowing -his untamed and fearless spirit I am inclined to believe that he -deliberately elected to die at home, in the cool depths that he loved -rather than come back to his poor refuge in the narrowing ice circle and -face that strange creature that knelt at the edge.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="WINTER_FERN-HUNTING" id="WINTER_FERN-HUNTING"></a>WINTER FERN-HUNTING</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE spring of this, our new year of 1909, is set by the wise makers of -calendars to begin at the vernal equinox, say the twenty-first of March, -but the weatherwise know that on that date eastern Massachusetts is -still in the thrall of winter, and spring, as they see it, is not due -till a month later.</p> - -<p>Yet they are both wrong, and we need but go into the woods now to prove -it. The spring in fact is already here. The new life in which it is to -express itself in a thousand forms is already growing and much of it had -its beginning in late August or early September of last year. The wind -out of the north may retard it indeed, but it needs but a touch of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> -south wind to start it in motion again, and the deep snows that are yet -to come and bury it so that the waves of arctic atmosphere that may roll -over its head for weeks will never be able to touch it are a help.</p> - -<p>Many a hardy little spring plant blooms first, not in April as we are -apt to think, but more likely in January, though it may be two feet deep -beneath the snow and ice and unseen by any living creature. To go no -farther than my own garden, I have known a late January thaw, rapidly -carrying off deep snow, to reveal the “ladies’ delights” in bloom -beneath an overarching crust of ice. The warm snow blankets had -effectually insulated the autumn grown buds from the zero temperature -two feet above, and the warmth of the earth beneath had not only passed -through the frost but melted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> a little cavern beneath the snow, and -there the hardy plants had responded to the impulse of the spring that -was already with them.</p> - -<p>In this wise the chickweed blooms the year round though rarely are -circumstances such that we note it in the winter months. Now and then -the hepatica opens shy blue eyes beneath the enfolding snow and it is -common in times of open weather in midwinter to read newspaper reports -of the blooming of dandelions in December, or January. These are just as -much in bloom on other winters but the snow covers them from sight and -it takes a thaw which sweeps the ground clear of snow to reveal them.</p> - -<p>It is good now and then to get a green Christmas such as we have just -had, for in it we may go forth into the fields and realize that the -spring has not retreated<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> to the Bahamas, but merely to the subsoil, -whence it slips, full of warmth and thrill, on any sunshiny day. If we -will but seek the right places we need not search long to find April all -about us, though they may be cutting ten-inch ice on the pond and winter -overcoats be the prevailing wear.</p> - -<p>To-day I found young and thrifty plants, green and succulent, of two -varieties of fern that are not common in my neighborhood and that I had -never suspected in that location. I had passed them amid the universal -green of summer without noticing them, but now their color stood out -among the prevailing browns and grays as vividly as yellow blossoms do -in a June meadow.</p> - -<p>Yet I sought the greater ferns of my acquaintance in vain in many an -accustomed place. Down by the fountain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> head is a spot where the black -muck, cushioned with yielding sphagnum, slopes gently upward to firmer -ground beneath the maples till these give way to the birches on the -drier hillside. Here the ostrich fern waved its seven-foot fronds in -feathery beauty amid the musky twilight of the swamp all summer long.</p> - -<p>It was as if giants, playing battledore, had driven a hundred green -shuttlecocks to land in the woodcock-haunted shelter. The tangle of -their fronds was chin high and you smashed your way through their woody -stipes with difficulty, so strong and thick were they. Now they have -vanished and scarcely a trace of their presence remains. Brown and -brittle stalks rise a little from the earth here and there, and if you -search among fallen leaves you may find the ends of their rootstalks -with the growth for next year<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> coiled in compact bundles there, ready to -unfold.</p> - -<p>From these rootstalks spring in all directions slender underground -runners whence will grow new plants. But none of this is visible. The -only reminder of that once luxurious thicket is the brittle, brown -stalks that still, here and there, protrude from the fallen leaves.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to see where they all went, but there is something -savoring of the supernatural about ferns, anyway. Shakspeare says: “We -have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible.” For men to use this -receipt the seed must be garnered on St. John’s eve in a white napkin -with such and such incantations properly recited. The <i>Struthiopteris -germanica</i> had plenty of fern-seed on St. John’s eve. It must have used -the old-time incantations with success, for all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> giant shuttlecocks -that thronged the swale with a close-set tangle of feathery green have -vanished.</p> - -<p>I sought another moist and shady woodland where all the early spring the -ground was a warm pinky brown with the fuzz of uncurling fiddle heads, -and later the brown, leaf-carpeted earth was hidden in a delicate lace -patterned of the young fronds of the cinnamon and the interrupted fern. -To this woodland came the yellow-warblers for the soft fuzz for use in -nest building, it compacting readily into a felt-like mass that is at -once yielding and durable. The cinnamon fern when it has reached any -size has an underground stump that is as woody and tough almost as that -of a tree. Its strong fronds are next to those of the ostrich-fern in -the woody vigor of their stipes. Surely these might have lasted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> Yet -not one form of fern life was visible in this once thronged wood. Like -the ostrich ferns they had poured their own fern-seed on their heads and -whispered the correct incantation at the coming of the first chill wind. -I am inclined to think it all happened in a jiffy, when happen it did, -for I have been back and forth through that part of the wood all the -fall and I cannot recall the day on which they were first missing. It -seems as if I would have noticed their gradual crumbling and decay.</p> - -<p>The same is true of the clumps of <i>Osmunda regalis</i> that grew here and -there along the pond shore. Rightly named “regalis” they stood in royal -beauty four or five feet tall and leaning over the water’s edge admired -the bipinnate grace of their fronds, while the tallest stalks bore aloft -the clusters of spore cases that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> looked like long spikes of plumed -flowers. No wonder the plant which is common to England also drew the -notice of Wordsworth, who refers to it as—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">“that tall fern,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So stately, of the queen Osmunda named.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plant lovelier in its own retired abode<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Grassmere beach than naiad by the side<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Grecian brook.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Flowering fern it is rightly named, too, but it had flowered and gone, -and I found of all its regal beauty but a single stalk with brown -spore-cases held rigidly aloft among a tangle of brown leaves and bog -grass.</p> - -<p>Then I looked for the sensitive fern. This with its slender, creeping -rootstock sending up single fronds is less woody than any of the others -and I began to suspect that it would have disappeared utterly. So the -sterile fronds had.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> There was no trace of them in spots that in summer -were a perfect tangle. But this was not true of the fertile stalks. Here -and there these, like the one of the royal fern, stood erect and bore -their close-lipped spore cases, seal-brown and stiff, high above dead -leaves and other decay of fragile annuals.</p> - -<p>All this made a disheartening fern chase, and I turned to the steep side -of the hemlock-shaded northern hill, sure of one hardy variety that -would have no use for invisibility, however chill the north wind might -blow. No smile of direct sunlight ever touches this hill. It is set so -steep that only the mid-summer midday sun overtops its slant and this -the dense hemlock foliage shuts out. No woodland grasses grow in its -dense shadow and only here and there the partridge berry and the pyrola -creep down a little from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span> the top of the ridge where some sunlight slips -in. Yet in its densest part the Christmas fern revels and throws up -fronds that seem to catch some of their dark beauty from the deep green -twilight of the place. In the spring these stand in varying degrees of -erectness, but autumn seems to bring a change in the cellular structure -of the lower part of the stipe and weaken it so that the fronds fall -flat upon the earth. They lose none of their firm texture or color, -however, and be the temperature ever so low or the snow ever so deep -they undergo no further change till the next spring fronds are well -under way. Sometimes even in mid-summer you may find the fronds of the -year before, somewhat fungi-encumbered and darkened with age, but still -green.</p> - -<p>No other fern grows in the denser<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> portions of this hemlock twilight, -though the Christmas fern clings close to it, and does not spread to the -more open glades on other portions of the hill. Another northern hill of -similar steepness but shaded by an old growth of pines through which -certain sunlight filters during most of the day has specimens of the -<i>Polystichum acrostichoides</i> growing only in its most sheltered nooks -from which they do not seem to spread even to the brighter spots near by -on the same declivity. Hence I infer that the plant prefers the -twilight, and does not thrive in even occasional sunlight.</p> - -<p>Just at the base of this second hill, however, where cool springs begin -to bubble forth in the mottled shadow, I caught a gleam of a lighter, -lovelier green that was like a dapple of sunlight on clumps of Christmas -ferns, and I came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> near passing it by for that. Then, because I had -never seen this fern growing in a dapple of sunlight, I went to it and -found that I had chanced upon a group of the spinulose wood fern. The -plumose fronds showed no more winter effects than did those of the -Christmas ferns. The keen frosts had not shrivelled them, nor was there -any hint of the brown that might come with the ripening of leaves or the -departure of sap.</p> - -<p>Like the other ferns they had suffered a failing of tissues near the -base of the stipe, but pinnules, midribs and rachis were as softly, -radiantly green as they had been under the full warmth of the summer -sun. Owing to this failure of tissues in the stipe they lay flat to the -ground, but they were still beautiful, perhaps more so than they had -been when they stood more erect in summer, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> were obscured and hidden -by the other green things of the wood. I know I tramped within a few -feet of them again and again last summer without noticing them, yet -to-day they caught my eye a long way off, and held it in admiration even -after a long and close inspection.</p> - -<p>Farther down in the very swamp, laid flat along the sphagnum and -oftentimes frozen to it, were fronds of the crested shield-fern and the -patches of these tolled me far from my find and it was only on coming -back for another look that I discovered the prettiest thing about it. -That was, near by and half sheltered by tips of the elder fronds, young -plants of the same variety, just advancing from the prothallus stage and -having one or two miniature fronds like those of the parent plant but -not more than two or three inches long.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<p>These looked so tiny as compared with the mature ferns, but were so -erect and confident, so fresh and green and very much alive though the -temperature about them night after night had been far below freezing and -their roots then stood in ice, that it was worth a journey, just to look -at them. How their tender tissues had stood the temperature of ten above -zero that had surrounded them a few nights before is more than I can -answer. The faintest touch of frost kills the fronds of the great -seemingly tough cinnamon and ostrich ferns. Yet these dainty little -plants of <i>Nephrodium spinulosum</i> with their miniature fronds of tender -lacework had not even wilted or cowered before deep and continued cold -as had the stalks of their elders of the same species, but stood erect, -nonchalant and seemingly eagerly growing still.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span></p> - -<p>We may say if we will that it is all a part of that magic of youth that -makes a million miracles each spring but that does not explain it. Why -should these be so strong and full of life when the fronds of the -hay-scented fern, for instance, have been shrivelled to dry and -crumbling brown fragments under the same conditions? I cannot answer -this either.</p> - -<p>Last of all I thought of the polypodys that grow in the rock crevices -all down along the glen, and went to see how they fared. It has been a -hard year for these little fellows. There must have been weeks at a time -during the scorching days of the long summer’s drought that their roots, -clinging precariously in rock crevices and dependent for moisture wholly -on rain and dew, were dry to the tips. The very heat of the rock itself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> -under the blister of the sun would not only evaporate all moisture, but -would so remain in the rock all night as to prevent any dew from -condensing on it.</p> - -<p>I had seen the polypodys at midday curled up on themselves seemingly -nothing but dried tissues that could never be again infused with the -breath of green life. Yet, let there come but the briefest of showers -and you would see them uncurl, lift their fronds to the breeze, and go -on as cheerily as their lower level neighbors the lady-ferns whose -pinnules flashed in the drip of the splashing stream and whose roots -bathed in the shallows.</p> - -<p>The summer must have weakened them. Were they the sort to shrivel at the -touch of the freezing wind and vanish into the fern-seed magic of -invisibility? Not they. The slender crevice of black dirt in which their -roots grow was black<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> adamant with frost, but the polypodys swayed in -the biting wind as jauntily as they had in the soft airs of summer and -were as green and unharmed by the winter thus far as the Christmas ferns -had been.</p> - -<p>While I gazed at them, admiring their toughness and courage, my eye -caught a bit of greenery on the rock high above and I had found the -second unexpected fern of my winter day’s hunt, for there from a crevice -dripped the rounded, finely crenate, dark green pinnæ of <i>Asplenium -trichomanes</i>, the maidenhair spleenwort.</p> - -<p>Many a day during the summer had I sat on that ledge, listening to the -prattle of the brook down the glen and watching the demoiselle flies -flit coquettishly up and down stream while the dragonflies with -masculine directness darted hither<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> and thither. The polypodys must have -often dropped their fern-seed on my head, but the magic that they -invoked with it must have been of the sort that made not me, but the -little fern above invisible, for it remained for this winter day of a -green Christmas week to show me its fragile beauty still green and -undisturbed in the winter weather. No other evidence was needed, nor -could I have any so good, to prove that spring is indeed here before the -winter comes, and though the cold and snow may retard they cannot -prevent it from reaching the full beauty and climax of maturity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THE_BARE_HILLS_IN_MIDWINTER" id="THE_BARE_HILLS_IN_MIDWINTER"></a>THE BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>OWARD morning the south rain, whose downpour was the climax of the -January thaw, ceased, and in the warm silence that followed Great Blue -Hill seemed like a gigantic puffball growing out of the moist twilight -into the dryer upper atmosphere of dawn. Standing on its rounded dome -you had a singular sense of being swung with it upward and eastward to -meet the light. At such times the whirling of the earth on its axis is -so very real that one wonders that the ancients did not discover it long -before they did. Surely their mountaineers must have known.</p> - -<p>After a little the battlemented donjon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> of the observatory looms clear -and you begin to notice other details of the gray earth beneath your -feet. The south wind has brought and left with you for a brief space the -atmosphere of the Bermudas, and you need only the joyous hubbub of bird -songs to think it June instead of January. Instead there is a breathless -silence that is like resignation and a portent all in one. Breathing -this soft air in the golden glow of daybreak it seems as if there could -never be such things as zero temperature and northwest gales; but the -whole top of the hill keeps silence. It knows.</p> - -<p>As the day grows brighter you can see the little scrub-oaks that make -the summit plateau their home crouch and settle themselves together for -the endurance test which is their winter lot. They have opened their -hearts to the south rain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> while it lasted, but they know what to expect -the moment it is gone. They studied the weather from Blue Hill summit -long before the observatory was thought of.</p> - -<p>All trees love the hill, but few can endure its winter rigors. You can -see where the hickories and red cedars have swarmed up the steep from -all sides, and as you note how the scrub-oaks compact themselves you -will see also the cedars holding the rim of rock as did that thin red -line of Scottish Highlanders at Inkermann, all dwarfed and crippled with -the struggle till they seem far different trees from the debonair slim -and sprightly red cedars of the alluvial plain. You can fairly see them -clench their teeth and hang on.</p> - -<p>Yet they love the rocks that they have gripped for some hundreds of -years, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> nothing but death will part them. There are red cedars -growing out of the gray granite near the southern rim of Blue Hill that -I believe were there when Bartholomew Gosnold stepped ashore, the first -Englishman to set foot on the soil of Massachusetts. No such age belongs -to the hickories that have managed to get head and shoulders above the -rim of the plateau, yet they too have lost their slender straightness. -The cold and the summit winds have pressed them back upon themselves -till they are stubby, big-headed dwarfs.</p> - -<p>Of how the other trees climb the hill we shall learn more if we begin at -the bottom, and we could have no better day in which to look them up -than this, for the south rain has swept the ground bare of all snow and -left us for a space this temperature of the Carolinas rather than<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> that -of Labrador, which is our usual portion in January. Indeed, from the -sunny plain which stretches from the southern base of the rock declivity -you can see where even tender and jocund plants once began the climb -most jauntily.</p> - -<p>Stalwart yellow gerardias, six feet tall some of them, grow in the rich -black mould that makes steps upward through the rock jumble. From August -till the frost caught them they scattered sunshine all along beneath the -hickories and chestnuts, maples and white oaks, tipping it out of golden -bowls to be shattered into the mists of goldenrod blooms that followed -after. These gerardias, though dry and dead, stand now, and will stand -despite gales and snow all winter long, boldly lifting brown seed pods -aloft, pods that grin in the teeth of bitter gales and send their chaffy -seeds floating up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> slope to plant the sunshine banner a little -farther aloft for next year. Many centuries they have been at it, but -few of them have climbed far, yet they so love the hill that they cling -tenaciously to the ground they have gained and seem to grow more -vigorously there than on less rugged soil.</p> - -<p>The roughest ledges of the hill jut boldly to the southward, showing -gray granite shoulders to the sun and making this side almost a sheer -rock precipice. Yet here the Highlander cedars have chosen to make their -climb in battalions, plaiding the gray surface with russet brown and -olive green, clinging tenaciously by toe-tips where it would seem as if -only air-plants might find nourishment. No other trees dare the bare -granite steep, though hickories flank the cedars wherever the slopes of -the ridge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> have crumbled a little and given a better foothold of black -soil.</p> - -<p>Strange to say, the purple wood-grass that surely loves sandy plains -best has sent little scouting parties up with the hickories, and here -and there occupies tiny plateaus among the ledges well up toward the -ridge, often rimmed round with the purplish green of the mountain -cranberry. At the bottom of the gullies the maples began the climb, but -they did not last long. Red and white oaks have won farther up, but -stopped invariably before the summit of the gully was reached.</p> - -<p>From the beautiful Eliot Memorial Bridge, near the eastern limits of the -summit plateau of Blue Hill, you catch a wonderful glimpse southeasterly -right down a narrow ravine to a wider valley, and thence down again to a -glow of white<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> ice which is Houghton’s Pond. The bare trees no longer -hide one another and you see where they made a flank movement in force -for the summit, swarming over the wider upland valley, and narrowing to -a wild charge of great chestnuts up the gully. These chestnuts do not -seem to stand rooted. They sway this way and that and seem to hurrah and -wave flags in the wild excitement of a desperate and hopeful venture. -They are motionless, of course, but they have all the semblance of -splendid action that genius has given to sculpture, and they add romance -to the most picturesque spot on the range. Yet never a chestnut top is -lifted above the ridge which tops the gully. To it they came in all the -fine enthusiasm of a well-planned and concerted advance, but stopped so -suddenly that you see them in splendid action still, as if with one -foot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> in the air for the step that should take them above the ridge.</p> - -<p>The north wind of the ages has stopped them right there where their tops -are just far enough above the level of the ridge edge to be safe from -it. You see them best by climbing down the little gully among evergreen -wood ferns which grow in the rich, moist soil among the rocks, the only -touches of green unless you happen upon some polypodys seemingly growing -out of the rock itself.</p> - -<p>Right among the chestnuts the semblance changes again with the -harlequin-like magic of the woods. The big trees are no longer fixed in -the attitude of desperate charge upon a rampart, as you saw them from -above. Among them they seem to be tipsy bacchanals who have chosen the -little secluded glen for a place of revelry, and are reeling about it -like clumsy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> woodsmen in a big-footed dance. A chestnut tree standing by -itself on a plain is as stately and dignified as a village patriarch. -Grouped together in level, rich woodland, chestnuts are prim and almost -lady-like. Why these particular trees in the little glen at the east -side of Blue Hill summit should skip about in clumsy riot is more than I -can tell, but they certainly seem to do it, and I am not the only one -who has seen it and been shocked by it.</p> - -<p>Right near by is a company of schoolgirl beeches, very straight and slim -and fair-skinned and pale. These have drawn together in a shivering -group and show every symptom of feminine dignity, very young and quite -outraged. They whisper and draw themselves up to the full tenuity of -their height and you can hear the dry snip of indignation in their -voices long<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> before you reach them. No doubt they thought to have the -glen all to themselves for a proper picnic with prunes and pickles, and -here are these great fellows thus misbehaving! It is a shame and the -park police should put a stop to it. The beeches are so frosty in their -indignant withdrawal that the icy whispering of their dry leaves sounds -like fast falling sleet. Slip among them when you are next on the hill, -shut your eyes and listen. The day may be as sunny and warm as a winter -day can be, but you will think you hear the snow falling fast and will -be sorry you have not brought your fur muffler.</p> - -<p>As for the chestnuts, I suspect they drank mountain dew at the illicit -still just below the gully. Surely no springs should have a license to -do business among the hilltops of this granite range.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> Yet they well up -freely among the lesser spurs that lie between Great Blue and Hancock, -and their moisture, drawn from cool depths to little ponds where the -southern sun shines in and the north and west winds are held back by -granite ridges, make rallying places for all kinds of wood and pasture -people that have yearned for mountain heights, but could not stand the -rigors of the summits. There are three of these little ponds on the -heights of the range almost within a stone’s throw of one another. It -may be that the seepage from surrounding ledges accounts for their flow -of water, but I am more inclined to think that cracks in the backbone of -the hills let the water flow up from subterranean depths. The margins of -two of them are the happy home of greenbrier which grows in tropical -luxuriance all about, so binding the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> bushes together with its spiny -twine that it is almost impossible to pass through them to the water. -Button-ball and high-bush blueberry grow with it and hold out their -branches for its smilax-like decoration, and the solemn and secretive -witch-hazel stalks meditatively about wherever the overhead foliage is -dense enough to make the mysterious twilight that it best loves. It -strolls up the gully beneath the shade of the chestnuts and you can but -fancy it smiling sardonically at their revelry and the prim indignation -of the schoolgirl beeches. Here and there swamp maples, strangely out of -place on hilltops, glow gray in the dusk as you stand below them, or -blush red in the clear sun as you look at their branch tips from the -cliffs. It is a picturesque little three-spurred peak lying here between -Great Blue and Hancock so shel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span>tered and warm in the midday sun that it -is only by watching the sky that you know it is winter, though the ice -is white and strong on the little ponds.</p> - -<p>I think you can get the best view of all of Great Blue Hill from the -summit of the lesser hill beyond the spurs and ponds and south of -Hancock, just overhanging Houghton’s Pond. There you see the forest-clad -slope sweep grandly up to form this broad upland valley, wrinkle a bit -with the folds where lie the three little ponds, then rise again most -majestically all along the steep side of the hill. At this time of year -it is one broad, majestic mass of the warm gray of bare tree trunks in -which rock ridges stand indistinct in purer color, while here and there -clustering twig masses purple it. You can see the black shadows in the -face of the cliff where stands the little glen in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> which the chestnuts -disport, and down near the highest of the three ponds is a beautiful -little splash of white all flushed with pink. This marks the location of -a group of young birches, the only ones I find on the heights of the -range.</p> - -<p>Midday had passed and with it the genial warmth that the south wind had -brought us. Instead romping northern breezes had a tang in them and torn -clouds sailed swiftly into view over the summit of Great Blue, rushing -deep blue shadows across the warm grays of the landscape. The age-old -battle of sun and wind was going on on every summit of the range. -Climbing the southerly slope of Hancock it was hard to believe it -winter. You got either season on the summit plateau according to the -nook you chose, but standing on the rim of the precipice, which faces -north you had no doubts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> From your feet to the foot of the hill in this -direction it was winter indeed. Yet here was the greenest spot in the -whole range. Scrambling perilously down the face of the cliff I touched -rich green vegetation with either hand and stood amid luxuriance at the -bottom. For here you are at the meeting place of ferns.</p> - -<p>Little sunshine reaches the face of this cliff in the high noon of a -midsummer day. No direct ray touches it all winter long, yet in the -chill twilight the polypodys swarm all along the summit of the ridge and -drip and dance down and stretch out their hands to neighbor ferns that -climb cheerily to meet them out of the moist shadows below. These are -the evergreen wood ferns. In the rich black frozen earth of the lower -woodland they grow in profusion. On the rocky acclivity they hold each -coign of vantage and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> splash the plaid of gray rock and brown leaves -with their rich green. Where cliff meets rock jumble the two draw -together and fraternize, and the polypodys come farther off the cliff -than I have often seen them, and the wood ferns grow in slenderer -crevices of the bare rock than anywhere else that I know.</p> - -<p>The sun was gone from all the little ravines on the way back from -Hancock to Great Blue, and the chill of the fern-festooned shadow of the -cliff that I had just left seemed to go with me all along. It was -especially dark and chill in the little gully and I reached the summit -of the big hill too late to find the sun. There, where daybreak had -breathed of spring, nightfall shivered in the bite of winter winds. A -million electric glints splintered the purple dusk to northward, but -there was no warmth in them even<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> when they fused into the glow of the -great city. With the shadow of night the cruel grip of winter had shut -down on the hilltop and I knew again, as I had known in the golden glow -of the morning, that it was midwinter. The dwarfed and storm-toughened -shrubs seemed to crouch a little closer to the adamantine earth, and -their frost-stiffened twigs sang in the bitter north wind. I felt the -chill in my own marrow and eagerly tramped the ringing granite toward -home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="SOME_JANUARY_BIRDS" id="SOME_JANUARY_BIRDS"></a>SOME JANUARY BIRDS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T seems to be our lot this winter to have April continually smiling up -in the face of January. Again and again the north wind has come down -upon us and set his adamantine face against all such folly. The turf has -become flint; the ice has been eight inches thick on pond and placid -stream, and the very next morning, maybe, the soft air has breathed of -spring, and bluebirds have twittered deprecatingly as if glad to be -here, but altogether ashamed to be found so out of season. As a matter -of fact, of course, some bluebirds winter with us, but they don’t warble -“cheerily O” in the teeth of the north winds. On those days you must -seek them in the cuddly seclusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> of dense evergreens, more than likely -among close-set cedars where the blue cedar-berries are still sweet and -plenty. But we have had many days in this January of 1909 when the -bluebirds have had a right to feel called to at least take a hurried -glimpse at the bird boxes or the holes in the old apple trees, just as -people take a flying trip to the summer cottage on a warm Sunday; they -know they can’t stay, but it is delightful to just look it over and -plan.</p> - -<p>I think the crows, though they are tough old winter residents, have -something of the same impulse to plan nests and make eyes and cooing -conversation, one to another. To-day I heard, in the pine treetops of a -little pasture wood where several pair nest every year, the unmistakable -note. In that great song of Solomon which the whole out-door<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> world will -chorus in the full tide of spring the crows have the bass part, no -doubt, but they sing it none the less musically. It is surprising what a -croak can become, between lovers.</p> - -<p>I saw them slip away silently and shamefacedly as I approached, and I -knew them for callow youngsters, high-school age, let us say, to whom -shy love-making is never quite out of season. But they got their -come-uppance the moment they sailed out of the grove, for their -appearance was greeted with a wild and raucous chorus of crow -ha-ha-ha’s. High in the air, flapping round and round in silence above -the pines, a half dozen riotous youngsters of their own age had been -observing them, chuckling no doubt and winking to one another, and now -that the culprits were driven out into the open where all could see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> -them the chorus of jeers knew no bounds. It was as unmistakable as the -caressing tone, this jeering laughter. You had but to hear it to know -very well what they were saying. The crow language has but one word, -which in type is caw. But their inflections and tone qualities are such -that it is easy to make it express the whole diatonic scale of primitive -emotion.</p> - -<p>Many of our summer birds whose winter range barely includes us seem to -be more than usually prevalent this winter. It may be that the mild -season has to do with this, but it is equally probable that a plenitude -of food is more directly responsible. Seed-eating birds are particularly -in luck this year. I do not know of a winter when the birch trees have -fruited so plentifully, nor have I noticed so many flocks of song -sparrows<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> as this year. I find them twittering happily along through the -wood, hanging in quite unsparrow-like attitudes from slender birch -twigs, busy robbing the pendant cones of their tiny seeds. In the summer -you know the song sparrow as a very erect bird. He sits on some topmost -twig of cedar or berry bush and pours forth quite the cheeriest and -sweetest home song of the pasture land. Or perchance he flies, and the -usual short and oft-repeated refrain seems to be broken up by flutter of -his wings into a longer, softer, and more varied song that has less of -challenge and more of sweet content in it. In his winter notes, which -are really nothing but a cheery twittering, I always think I hear -something of the mellow singing quality of this song of the wing.</p> - -<p>To-day I saw a sharp-shinned hawk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> hunting noiselessly, no doubt for -these same sparrows. He flitted among the treetops like a nervous flash -of slaty gray, and was gone so quickly that had I not heard the welt of -his wing tips on the resisting air as he turned a sharp corner I should -never have seen him. Most of our hawks, though well known to take an -occasional chicken, are mouse and grasshopper eaters. The sharp-shinned -is the real chicken hawk, for he eats more birds than anything else, -though the small songsters of the thicket form the greater part of his -diet. I have rarely seen him here in winter, though his summer nest is -common in the deep woods, with its cream-buff eggs heavily blotched with -chocolate brown. Just as the plenitude of food of their kind kept the -song sparrows with us to enjoy the mild weather, so I think the -multitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> of song sparrows and other succulent titbits made the -sharp-shinned hawk willing to winter where he had summered.</p> - -<p>All these birds which are wintering as far north as they dare seem to -come out and cheer up in the April-like days, but in those which are -distinctly January you may tramp the woods for days and not see one of -them. The flicker is a rather common bird with us the winter through. In -a warm January rain you will often surprise him wandering about in the -thawed fields, looking for iced crickets and half concealed grubs and -chrysalids among the stubble. Let the snow come deep and the wind blow -out of the north and the flicker vanishes from the landscape. It is as -if he had gone into a hole and pulled his thirty-six nicknames in after -him, so completely has the flicker disappeared. He is a strong-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span>winged -bird and I have always been willing to think that at such times he -simply whirled aloft on the northerly gale and never lighted till he was -a few hundred miles to the south. He could do it easily enough. He would -find bare ground and good feeding in the tidewater country of Virginia -when New England is three feet under snow and the zero gales are -drifting it deeper and freezing the heart out of the very trees in the -wood.</p> - -<p>The other day, though, I caught one of them sitting in the hollow of an -ancient apple tree. There was an opening of some size facing the south -into which the midday sun shone with refreshing warmth. Here, sheltered -from the bite of the north wind the flicker had tucked himself away and -was enjoying his sunny nook much as pigeons do in just the right angle -of the city cornices. But he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> was better off than the pigeons for there -were fat grubs in the decaying wood that formed his shelter and he could -use his meal ticket without leaving his lodgings. Our woods are full of -such hostelries and they shelter more of the woodland creatures than we -know as we tramp carelessly by.</p> - -<p>But if the bluebirds and flickers hide themselves securely through the -coldest winter days and the song sparrows and even the crows are apt to -be scarce and subdued, as is certainly the case in my woods, there are -other feathered folk who seem to delight in the cold and be never so gay -as when the sky is leaden, the wind bites, and the frost flakes of snow -squalls let the sun struggle through the upper atmosphere because it is -too bitter cold to really snow. Of these the chickadees lead. They seem -to be never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> so merry as when they hear the sweet music of the tinkle of -cold-tense snow crystals on the bare twigs.</p> - -<p>In spite of the soft raiment in which the weather garbs itself to-day it -is only three days ago that the great organ of the woods piped to the -northerly wind as it breathed pedal notes through the pines and piped -shrill in the chestnut twigs. And there was more than organ music. The -white and red oaks, still holding fast to their brown leaves, gave forth -the rattling of a million delicate castanets, and the wind drew like a -soft bow across the finer strings of the birches so that all among -slender twigs you heard this fine tone of a muted violin singing a -little tender song of joy. For the trees were sadly weary of being -frozen one day and thawed the next. They thought the real winter was at -hand when the cold would</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_003" style="width: 405px;"> -<a href="images/i_118.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_118.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>There are other feathered folk who seem to delight in the -cold</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">be continuous and the snow deep. All we northern-bred folk love the real -winter and feel defrauded of our birthright if we do not get it.</p> - -<p>Strangest of all were the beeches. They have held the lower of their -tan-pale leaves and with them have whispered of snow all winter long. -Whatever the day, you had but to stand among them with closed eyes and -you could hear the beech word for snow going tick, tick, tick, all -about. It seemed as if flakes must be falling and hitting the leaves so -plainly they spoke it. Now that the flakes were beginning the beeches -never said a word, but just stood mute and watched it come and listened -to the music of all the other trees. Or perhaps they listened to -something finer yet. It was only in their enchanted silence that I -thought I heard it. Now and then the wind held its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> breath and the oak -leaf castanets ceased, and then for a second I would be sure of it; an -elfin tinkle so crepuscular, so gossamer fine that it was less a sound -than a thought, the ringing of snow crystal on snow crystal as the -feathery flakes touched and separated in the frost-keen air. It surely -was there and the beech trees heard it and stood breathless in solemn -joy at the sound.</p> - -<p>The chickadees were very happy that day. Little groups of half a dozen -flipped gaily from tree to tree, bustling awkwardly and jovially about -picking up food continually, though it is rarely possible to see what -they get as they glean from limb to limb. Winter is the time for -sociability, say the chickadees, and they welcome to their number the -red-breasted nuthatches that have followed the season down from the -Maine woods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> The chickadee in his cheery endeavors to take his own in -the way of food where he finds it does some surprising acrobatic feats, -but they are almost always clumsy and you expect him momentarily to -break his neck. Not so the nuthatch. He runs along the under side of a -limb with his back to the ground as easily as he would run along the -upper side. He comes down the smooth trunk of a pine head down, just as -a squirrel does, his feet seeming to be reversible and to stick like -clamps wherever he cares to put them. All the time his busy little head -is poking here and there with sinuous agility and his slim, pointed bill -is gathering in the same invisible food, no doubt, that the chickadee is -after. And as he eats he talks, a quaint high-pitched, nasal drawl of -yna, yna, yna, that gets on your nerves after a while and you are glad -to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> him let go his upside-down hold, turn a flip-flap in the air, -and light on another tree some distance away. I think Stockton got his -idea of negative gravity from watching the nuthatches. If I were mean -enough to shoot one I should as soon expect to see him fall up into the -sky as down to the earth, so usually regardless and defiant is he toward -the proper and accepted force of gravity.</p> - -<p>Quite prim and upright as compared with these shifty wrigglers is the -third boon companion of these winter day expeditions, the downy -woodpecker. You are not so apt to find him as the other two, for his -work is deeper and more laborious and they are likely to flit flightily -away while he still drills and ogles. Yet you can hear him much farther -away than the others, and it is not difficult to slip quietly up and see -him at his work.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> Prim and erect he stands on some rotten stub, his -stiff tail-feathers jabbing it to hold him steady, his head now driving -his nail-like bill with taps like those of a busy carpenter’s hammer, -anon speeding up till it has almost the effect of an electric buzzer. -Then he looks solemnly with one eye in at the hole that he has made, -prods again eagerly and pulls out a fat white grub, gulps it, and goes -hop-toading up the stub looking for more probe possibilities. Or perhaps -he writes scrawly Ms. in the atmosphere as he flits jerkily over to the -next tree that pleases him.</p> - -<p>Thus though not of a feather these three flock together in the biting -cold of winter days and seem to be cheery and courageous if not exactly -contented. They are all hole-born and hole-building birds and when night -overtakes them they know well where to find wind-proof hol<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span>low trunks -where they may snuggle, round and warm in their fluffed out feathers -till dawn calls them to work again.</p> - -<p>Yet, with all the yearning of the trees and the joy of the woodland -creatures in the prospect of snow it ended in no snow storm. All day -long the sun shone palely through a frost fog and the frost crystals -sprang out of it at the touch of the icy wind and tinkled into -snowflakes right before your eyes. The wind swept a feathery fluff -together in corners but at nightfall when the moon shone through a -clearer air and a near-zero temperature the crystals had begun to -evaporate, and by morning hardly a trace of them was left. To-day it is -April-like; to-morrow we may have zero weather again and before these -words get into print perhaps the yearned-for snow will have come and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> -with its kindly shelter covered the succulent green things of pasture -and woodland that need it so badly.</p> - -<p>It is wonderful, though, how they stand freezing and thawing and yet -remain green, firm in texture, and wholesome. The birds of the air have -feathers which they can fluff out and make into a down puff for a winter -night covering. Here in the pine grove is the pipsissewa starring the -ground with its rich green clumps. It is as full of color and sap, -seemingly, as it was in July when its fragrant wax-like blossoms starred -its green with pink. No cell of the fleshy texture of its green leaves -is broken nor is there a tarnish in their gloss. Its seedpod stands dry -on a dry scape in place of its flower, but that alone shows the -difference between summer and winter. Yet it stands naked to the north -wind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> protected by neither feathers nor fur. Who can tell me by what -principle it remains so? Why is the thin-leaved pyrola and the partridge -berry, puny creeping vine that it is, still green and unharmed by frost -when the tough, leathery leaves of the great oak tree not far off are -withered and brown?</p> - -<p>Chlorophyl, and cellular structure, and fibro-vascular bundles in the -one plant wither and lose color and turn brown at a touch of frost. In -another not ten feet away they stand the rigors of our northern winters -and come out in the spring, seemingly unharmed and fit to carry on the -internal economy of the plant’s life until it shall produce new leaves -to take their places. Then in the mild air of early summer these winter -darers fade and die. Here in the swamp the tough and woody -cat-o’-nine-tails is brown and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> papery to the tip of its six-foot stalk. -The blue flag that was a foot high is brown and withered alongside it, -yet the tender young leaves of the <i>Ranunculus repens</i> growing between -the two and not having a tenth of their strength are tender and young -and green and unharmed still. The first two died at a touch of the -frost. The buttercup leaves have been frozen and thawed a score of times -without hurt.</p> - -<p>You might guess that the swamp water has an elixir in it that saves the -life of the repens; but how about the <i>Ranunculus bulbosus</i>, European -cousin of the repens? That grows on the sandy hillside, and even the -root tips that extend below its little white bulb have been frozen stiff -a score of times since the woody stemmed goldenrod beside it dropped -dead, sere and brown, at the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> good freeze. Yet to-day in the -smiling sun I found the young leaves of the <i>Ranunculus bulbosus</i> green -and succulent and unharmed of their cellular structure, and so I am sure -they will remain, under the snow or bare, as the case may be when the -first yellow bud pushes upward from that white bulb where it is now -patiently waiting the word. Our botanists who study heroically to find -some minute variation in form that they may add another Latin name to -their text-books might study these variations in habit and result and -tell me the reason for them. I’d be glad to buy some more books on -botany; but none that I have seen have so far within their pages any -explanation of this puzzle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_SNOW_CAME" id="WHEN_THE_SNOW_CAME"></a>WHEN THE SNOW CAME</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAVEN’t seen my friend the cottontailed rabbit for some days. All the -winter, so far, he has frequented his little summer camp on the southern -slope of the hill, well up toward the top, among the red oaks. Here in a -little tangle of tiny undergrowth and brown leaves, with a fallen trunk -for overhead shelter, you might find him any forenoon. He had backed -into this place and trampled and snuggled till he had a round and cosy -form just a bit bigger than himself, where the sun might warm him until -he was drowsy and he could sit in a brown ball with his feet tucked -beneath his fluffy fur, his ears laid along his back, and his eyes half -closed in dreamy contentment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span></p> - -<p>I could step quietly up the path and see him sometimes a second before -he saw me, but only for a second. Then his dream of succulent bark of -wild apple trees and other delicacies of the winter woods would pass -with a single thump of his sturdy hind feet as he struck the earth a -half dozen feet away from his snug lodging, and more thumps and the -bobbing of a white tail would carry him out of sight in a flash. He bobs -and thumps just as a deer does when you surprise him in the forest, and -flies a white flag in just the same way. Both go jerking away like -sturdy but nervous sprites, and though a deer in the forest is supposed -to be the epitome of grace, I can never see it. The startled fawn and -the startled bunny are both too eager to get on to be graceful.</p> - -<p>We have just had some touches of real</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_004" style="width: 443px;"> -<a href="images/i_132.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_132.jpg" width="443" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>Here in a little tangle of tiny undergrowth and brown leaves, with -a fallen trunk for overhead shelter, you might find him any -forenoon</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">winter and these have sent the cottontail to the seclusion of his -burrow, where he lacks the health-giving warmth of the sun, it is true, -but where he is snug and comfortable beneath the frost line. Like the -rabbit most of the wild creatures of the wood seem to endure the snow -with cheerful philosophy, but I am convinced that few of them like it. -It hides their food from them, and if it is deep or a strong crust makes -its surface difficult of penetration its long-continued presence mean -short rations or even starvation and death. The squirrels have some -stores within hollow trunks and these are available at any season, but -much of their winter food is buried helter-skelter beneath brown leaves -and too deep snow shuts them off from it. The fox must range farther and -pounce more surely, for the field mice which are his bread<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> and butter -are squeaking about their usual business in pearly tunnels where he may -not reach them. The woodchucks are tucked away for the winter, the -skunks are dozing fitfully on short rations, hungry but inert, and even -Brer Rabbit does not venture out of his hole for days at a time when his -enemies, winter and rough weather, are upon him.</p> - -<p>Yet if the furred and feathered people of pasture and woodland have no -occasion to love the snow it is far different with the trees and shrubs -and tender plants of the out-door world. These have yearned for it with -love and a faith that has rarely lacked fulfilment. They talked about it -incessantly, each in the voice of its kind, the big forest oaks with the -cheery rustle of sturdy burghers, the little scrub oaks with the -tittle-tattle of small-natured folk. Let the wind blow north or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> south -or high or low the birches sang a little silky song of snow and the -pines hummed or roared to the same refrain. Then it came, “announced by -all the trumpets of the sky,” as Emerson says, but muted trumpets that -blared without sound. The eyes saw the flourish of them, the nose mayhap -whiffed the rich odor of the storm. You could see it in the sky and feel -the light touch of its unwonted air on your cheek, but you could not say -that the wind blew north or blew south when the culmination of signs -made you sure of it. The storm may bleat along the hillside like a lost -lamb or roar high above in the clashings of the infinite skies after it -is well under way, but always before it begins is this little breathless -pause between the dying of one wind and the birth of another.</p> - -<p>So it was that the first of this snow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> came to the woods. In the hush of -expectation there was a certain feeling of awe. The trees felt it as -much as I did and stood as breathless and expectant. Instead of clearly -defined clouds, the whole air seemed to thrill with the dusky gray -presence of a spirit out of unknown space, of whose beneficence we might -hope, but of whom we were not without dread. And so the dusk of the -storm we hoped for gloomed down on us in the breathless stillness and -tiny flakes slipped down so quietly that the touch of their ghost -fingers on my cheek was the first that I knew of their actual coming. -The pine boughs high over my head caught these first flakes and held -them lovingly and let them slip through their fingers only after many -caresses, and soon through all the pine wood you could hear a little -sigh that was a purr of content<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span>ment in the first faint breathing of the -north wind bearing many flakes.</p> - -<p>Thus the snow comes to the woods. You can see its portent glooming in -the sky for hours beforehand, smell it in the rich, still air and feel -its touch on your cheek. When I stepped out from under the cathedral -gloom of the space beneath the pines, I found the air full of flakes -whirling down from the north and the field white with them.</p> - -<p>Standing in the midst of the storm in the field, you have a chance to -see something of its color, for after all falling snow is only -relatively white. Looking toward the dense, dark foliage of the pine -wood, you see it at its best, especially across the wind, for the -contrast is most vivid and the color most distinct. Each individual -flake is so distinct and so white, from those near you, which go<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> -scurrying earthward as if in a great hurry, to those of the distance, -which float leisurely down. Look again up the wind toward the gray of -the hard-wood forest and you shall find the falling hosts almost as gray -as the wood which they half blot out. But if you would see black snow, -you have but to lift your eyes to the leaden gray sky out of which, as -you see them from below, flakes float in black blots that erase -themselves only when they lie at your feet. In open wells in the deep -wood you can see this still more definitely as you look up, a black snow -falling all about you, to be changed to spotless white by some miracle -of contact with the earth.</p> - -<p>In the deep woods, too, you hear the cry of the snow, not the song of -the trees in the joy of its coming, but the voices of the flakes -themselves, their little shrill<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> cries as they touch leaf or twig. To -the pines that held up soft arms of welcome and clasp them close and -will not let them go away though each bough is weighted down, they -whisper a soft little cooing word that is surely “love” in any language. -No wonder it is warm under pine boughs in a snow-storm. The great trees -glow with the happiness of it and the radiance of their delight filters -down to you as you stand beneath. The flakes seem to love the bare, -smooth twigs of the hard-wood maples less, they give them just a pat and -a gentle word of greeting as they go by, and they touch the birches -almost flippantly. Among the fine pointed tridents of the pasture -cedars, however, they linger somewhat as they do among the pines, though -their song here is of jovial friendship only, with even something -waggish about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> They linger in groups among the cedar boughs for -awhile, but often start up in gentle glee and shake themselves clear, -leaving the tree in a sort of blank dismay until more of their fellows -come to take their places. There is a little swish of fairy laughter as -they do this, as of the snickering of fat bogles as they play pranks in -the white wilderness.</p> - -<p>But it is over on the oak hillside where the red and black oaks still -hold resolutely to their dried leaves that the cry of the snow will most -astonish you. It is not at all the rustle of these oak leaves in a wind. -It is an outcry, an uproar, that drowns any other sound that might be in -the wood. It is impossible to distinguish voices or words. It is as if -ten thousand of the little people of the wood and field and sky had -suddenly come together in great excitement over something and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span> were -shouting all up and down the gamut of goblin emotion. After I have stood -and listened to it for a minute or two I begin to look at one shoulder -and then the other fully expecting to see gabbling goblins grouped -there, yelling to one another in my very ears. Here with closed eyes you -may easily tell the quality of the snow about you by the sound. Each -sort of flake has its distinct tone which is easily recognized through -all the uproar. At nightfall of this first snow of ours it happened that -in the meeting of northerly and southerly currents which had brought the -storm, the north wind lulled and the south began to have its way again. -This gave us at first a great downfall of big flakes that seemed to blot -out all the world in an atmosphere of fluff. Then, evidently, the warmth -in the upper atmosphere increased for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> big flakes gave way to a fine -fall of rounded sleet. Then, indeed, we got outcry the most astonishing -in the oak wood. The voices shrilled and fined and all crepitation was -lost in a vast chorus of a million peeping frogs. Nothing else ever -sounded like it. It was as if a goblin springtime had burst upon us in -the white gloom of the oak wood and all the hylas in the world were -piping their shrillest from the boughs.</p> - -<p>I went home. I think it was time. People used to get among goblins at -dusk in this way in the old country and when they got back from goblin -land they found that they had been gone three years, and I didn’t care -to stay away so long.</p> - -<p>During the night the sleet changed to rain which froze as it fell, and -in the morning the snow everywhere was but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> an inch or two deep and -covered with an icy crust that broke underfoot with a great noise and -effectually scared away any woodland thing that you approached, provided -it had powers of locomotion. Fox or crow, partridge or rabbit, must have -thought that Gulliver was once more walking in among the Lilliputians -with his very biggest boots on. Never were such thunderous footsteps -heard in my wood, at least not since the last icy crust. Frozen in the -icy surface were the trails that had been made when the snow was soft, -the squirrel’s long, plunging leaps with his hind feet dropping into the -hole his front feet had made, giving something you might mistake for -deer tracks, except that they went back up the tree. You saw where the -crow had dropped to earth and trailed his aristocratically long hind -toe, with its incurv<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span>ing claw. The crow’s foot is fine for grasping a -limb, but it does not fit the ground well. On the other hand, the trail -of the ruffed grouse which may lie beside it shows an ideal footprint -for walking woodland paths, the hind toe stubby nailed, short but firm, -and the whole print well planted and fitting the earth.</p> - -<p>These and many more I found modeled in ice, but the trails that -interested me most were those beneath the crust, the long tunnels that -wound here and there, intersected and doubled and made portions of the -fields and forests for all the world like the blue veining of a white -skin. These were the trails of the shaggy-coated, crop-eared, -short-legged, shorttailed meadow mouse. This firm crust had opened to -him the opportunity of safety in paths that had been before dangerous in -the extreme. He knew where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> chestnuts had lain open to the sky for -months, but he dared not go into the open path to get them. Fox, cat, -skunk, weasel, hawk, owl, crow, all watched the paths and the edges of -the thick grass for him. He must burrow or die. So he does burrow all -the year through, just beneath the surface, in dirt if he must, under -light leaves and brush and matted grasses by preference, for there he -may go the more easily and quickly to his food. His eyesight and hearing -are good, and he moves like a little brown flash when he has to go into -the open.</p> - -<p>If I wish to see him I watch well-worn footpaths through matted grass -and leaves. Here his tunnels end on one side of the path and begin on -the other and he takes the chance of crossing this risky opening to sun -and sky as often as he feels he must, but he wrecks the speed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> limit -every time he does it. So quickly does he go that you cannot be sure -what has happened; there was the stirring of a leaf on one side and a -grass stem on the other and a sudden vanishing touch of brown between -the two, but which way it went or whether it went at all is doubtful. -So, too, his tunnels come down and open at the water’s edge by the -meadow brook and if you are patient and have rare luck you may see him -swim across. Here trout and mink are on the watch for him. His numbers -need to be great if, with all his caution and agility, he is going to -survive all these huntsmen, and they are great. He may breed at two -months of age and have many litters a season and his progeny, if -unchecked, soon swarm. All the meadows are full of them this year, but -it is only when such a snow as we now have comes that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> we have a chance -to see what they may do.</p> - -<p>In the summer-time they stick close to their meadows, living on -succulent roots and stems. They are especially fond of tuberous roots of -the wild morning-glory, which they store by the pound in their grass -larders near their nests. But under the welcome cover of the snow they -push their excursions far afield and their netted-veined trails come -even to your house itself, though they rarely dispute the wainscoting -with the house mouse. Now and then they do, however, and I fancy they -have no trouble in holding their own against their slighter and more -aristocratic cousins. When they do come you will know their presence by -the extraordinary noise of their gnawing. Once a stone crusher, no less -by the sound, got into my garret, and after one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> sleepless night I set -the biggest trap I had, expecting to get the most enormous brown rat -that ever happened, if not some new and more elephantine rodent. What I -caught was a well-grown field mouse, and the noise passed with him.</p> - -<p>The rain which produced this thunderous and telltale snow crust brought -a new and gorgeous growth to the trees. From trunk to topmost twig, each -was garmented in regal splendor of crystal ice. I had been in goblin -land when I fled, at twilight, from the eerie shrilling of bogle hylas -among the oak trees. I had come back into fairyland with the rising sun. -The demure shrubs, gray Cinderellas of the ashes of the year, had been -touched by the magic wand and were robed in more gems than might glow in -the wildest dreams of the most fortunate princess of Arabian tale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> -Ropes of pearl and festoons of diamonds weighed the more slender almost -to earth. The soft white shoulders of the birches drooped low in -bewildering curtsey, and to the fiddling of a little morning wind the -ball began with a tinkling of gem on gem, a stabbing of scintillant -azure, so that I was fain to shut my eyes with the splendor of it.</p> - -<p>Then came the prince himself to dance with them, the morning sun, -flashing his gold emblazonry through their gems till the corruscation -drowned the sight in an outpouring of fire. The princesses all began to -speak as he came among them, a speech wherein dropped from their lips -all jewels and precious stones. Sunbursts of diamonds fell from dainty -young pines and ropes of pearls slid from the coral lips of slender -birches. The babble fell all about their feet in such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> ecstasies of -brilliant speech, such tinkling of fairy laughter as the wood had never -yet seen. Brave revels have the little people of the forest under the -moon of midsummer night, no doubt, but never could they show such royal, -dainty splendor as their own trees did this midwinter day when the sun -shone in upon them after the ice storm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THE_MINKS_HUNTING_GROUND" id="THE_MINKS_HUNTING_GROUND"></a>THE MINK’S HUNTING GROUND</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> WISH I could have seen the country about the great spring which goes -by the name, locally, of “Fountain Head” the year that the clock stopped -for the glaciers hereabout. That year when the last bit of the ice cap, -that for ages had slid down across southeastern Massachusetts and built -up its inextricable confusion of sand and gravel moraines, melted away, -would have shown a thousand great springs like it, bubbling up all -through the region, almost invariably from the northerly base of -gravelly cliffs over which the sun can hardly peep at noonday, so steep -they are. Here they flow to-day in the same mystery. Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> should these -unfailing springs rush forth so steadily, be the weather hot or cold, or -the drought never so long or so severe? Why should their temperature -like their flow be changeless, summer or winter?</p> - -<p>I sometimes believe that their waters filter through deep caverns from -far Arctic glaciers continually renewed. Perhaps to have looked at them -before the changing seasons of more thousands of years had clothed the -gravel and sand with humus, grown the forests all about and choked the -fountains themselves with acres of the muck of decayed vegetation no one -knows how deep, would have been to see them with clearer eyes and have -been led to an answer to the questions. Now I know them only as bits of -the land where time seems to have stood still, fastnesses where dwell -the lotus<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> eaters of our New England woods, where winter’s cold howls -over their heads, but does not descend, and where summer’s heat rims -them round, but hardly dares dabble its toes in their cool retreat.</p> - -<p>Progress has built its houses on the hills about them, freight trains -two miles away roar so mightily that the quaggy depths tremble with the -vibrations, and you may sit with the arethusas in mossy muck and hear -the honk of the automobile mingling with that of the wild geese as they -both go by in spring. Yet the one makes as much impression on the land -and its inhabitants as the other. The lotus eaters know not Ulysses; if -he wants them for his ships of progress he must capture them by force -and tie them beneath the rowers’ benches, else they return. Even the -temperature of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> last days of the ice cap seems to have got tangled -in the spell and to dwell with the mild-eyed melancholy of the place the -year round. In midsummer the thermometer may stand at 120 in the -quivering nooks where the sun beats down upon the sandy plains above; -the waters of the fountain head are ice cold still, and give their -temperature to the brook and its borders. In midwinter the mercury may -register twenty below, and the gales from the very boreal pole freeze -the pines on those same sandy plains till their deep hearts burst; the -waters that flow from those mysterious fountains will have no skim of -ice on their surface.</p> - -<p>From what unfathomed depths the waters draw their constancy we may never -know, nor on what day may well forth with them some new form of life -bred on the potency of their elixir. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span>-day is freezing cold and now -and then snow-squalls whirl in among the swamp maples, eddying in flocks -as the goldfinches do, yet the surface of the biggest pool where the -waters well up is covered with the vivid green of new plant life. -Millions of tiny boreal creatures swim free on the cool surface, plants -reduced to their simplest terms, born for aught I know in depths below -like those</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Where Alph, the sacred river, ran<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Through caverns measureless to man<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Down to a sunless sea,”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">whence they ooze in the seeping of the upward current to our shores. No -one has here found the seeds of these stemless pinheads of green that -lie flat on the surface and send down for a wee fraction of an inch -their two or three tiny root hairs into the water.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> - -<p>No one can say they are apetalous or monosepalous or sporangiferous or -call them other hard names in Latin having reference to their flowering -or fruiting for we may not say that they flower or fruit at all. These -minutest Lemnas give us no sign of stamin or spore, of carpel or -indusium, yet they multiply by millions and cover the surface of the -spring pools whence they depart constantly with the outflowing current, -voyaging gayly down Brobdingnagian rapids to the sea. The time of year -when it is winter in the sky above and on the bank a few feet up the -hillside, when all green life except that which grows with its roots in -this magic water from the deep caves of earth is either killed or -suspended, seems to be their time for growth.</p> - -<p>They grow a little, to a certain stage when perhaps a plant covers -surface to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> the size of a pinhead and a half, then split and become -independent plants with a tiny root hair apiece. Brave equipment this -for facing the January gales and frost of a northern winter. Yet they -sail forth from the home pool as confidently as liners from the home -port and rollick all along down the stream, making harbor in every tiny -bay and collecting a fleet in each eddy. What potency of perpetual -spring they sow as they traverse all the ways that wind in and about the -levels below the fountain head we do not know, any more than we know -what elixir vitæ dwells in the waters on which they are borne, yet -something makes the region the lotus land of creatures of the wild where -they linger on unmindful of their vanished kindred.</p> - -<p>Out of the rich vegetable mould of ages, in the cool, moist shadows grow -the rarer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> New England orchids in the summer, and the rarer migrant -birds of our summer woods find asylum here for their nests and young. In -the winter the ruffed grouse comes here to drink, finds gravel for his -crop always bare and unfrozen on the hillside where the first seepings -of water come forth, and no doubt gets an agreeable change of food in -the succulent green things of the shallows. Several of these birds cling -to the place, nor can I drive them away by simply flushing them. They -circle and come back to the brook margin or its immediate neighborhood -every time.</p> - -<p>Where the swamp maples have grown large on the bank and lifted the soil -with their roots high enough to form miniature dry islands the mink have -built their burrows and thence they go forth to hunt the region all -about, but especially</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_005" style="width: 403px;"> -<a href="images/i_160.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_160.jpg" width="403" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>You may get a glimpse of the weasel-like head of one lifted above -the bank as he sniffs the breeze for game and enemies</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">the brook and its tributaries, most ravenously. If you are patient, -fortunate, and the wind is right you may at dusk get a glimpse of the -weasel-like head of one lifted above the bank as he sniffs the breeze -for game and enemies. In that light his fur will look black though it is -really a pretty shade of brown, but you will not fail to see the white -streak which runs from his chin downward. But, though you may not see -the animal himself you cannot, if there is snow on the ground, fail to -see his slender, aristocratic track with its clutching claws, for the -mink is a desperate hunter and always hungry. All is fish that comes to -his net,—trout, turtles, toads, snails, bugs, or anything he can find -in the brook that seems in the least edible.</p> - -<p>The semi-aquatic life of the enchanted region is sadly destructive of -other life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> and I feel little pity for the mink or the weasel, sleek -and beautiful wild creatures though they are, if they in turn fall into -the steel jaws which the trapper sets for them in the narrow passes all -up and down the stream. It is the common lot of the woods and only the -swiftest and most crafty can hope to escape it. The mink devour the -trout, and they, seemingly innocent and beautiful enough to have come -up, water sprites, from that unknown underground world whence well the -crystal waters in which they live, are as greedy and irresponsible in -their diet as the mink themselves. Like them, when hungry they will -devour the young of their own species and smack their lips over the -feast.</p> - -<p>The trout will eat anything that looks to be alive either in the water -or on the surface. I often amuse myself in sum<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span>mer by biting small -chunks out of an apple and dropping them in, to see the trout swallow -them as ravenously as if they had suddenly become vegetarians and had -all the zeal of new converts. What the Jamaica ginger preparation of the -brook world is I don’t know, unless it is watercress. That grows, green -and peppery, all up and down the brook the year through. Perhaps the -trout go from my green apple luncheon over to that and thus join the -remedy to the disease.</p> - -<p>One of the trout titbits is the gentle little caddice worm, grub of the -little miller-like caddice fly that flits in at the open window of a May -night and lights on the table under the glare of your lamp. He dwells on -the bottom in these same pure waters and he has much to do to defend -himself against the jaws of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> nimble hunter. He is but a worm that -crawls, so speed may not save him. His skin is tender and he has no -weapon of defense save his brain which one would hardly think adequate -in so humble a creature. Yet if you will sit on the brink and watch what -goes on in the cool depths you will see how cleverly and in what a -variety of ways he and his kindred, for there are several varieties, -have become skilled in self-defense. The little fellow has, like most -grubs, the power to spin fine silk. This would count for little though -he spun a whole cocoon, for the trout would swallow him, silken overcoat -and all. But he does better than that. He collects bits of log from the -bottom and winds these in his silken warp till he has knotted himself -firmly within a log house. There is no incentive to a trout to eat twigs -from the bottom, so the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> defenseless caddice worm is passed unnoticed. -He is snugly rolled in silk within his rough house and moves about by -cautiously putting out a leg or two and crawling with the logs on his -back. Another variety uses small pebbles instead of logs. Taking a stone -from bottom in the swift running water of a tiny rapid to-day I found it -covered with little gravel barnacles that clung like limpets to the -proverbial rock.</p> - -<p>I could pry them off only by the use of considerable force and even when -I did this the wee bits of gravel, carefully fitted together in a -hemisphere, still remained, bound in strong bands. Within the hollow was -the little creature that had built the structure, his silken netting -still holding him snug within his rock castle, so much brain has this -seemingly blind and helpless worm for the preservation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> himself. But -more than this, the builder and riveter of this adamantine castle has -other use for his silken bands than to bind stone or to weave himself a -silken garment against the damp weather at the brook bottom. He is a -fisherman as well, and stretched between two stones near by or perhaps -hanging over the edge of the larger stone on which he dwells is his net, -built funnel-form with the larger end toward the oncoming current, the -smaller closed with silken netting, all carefully spread to catch tiny -creatures slipping down stream with the current, on which the -net-builder, castle-dweller, may feed. These homely, home-building, -home-keeping fishermen lead an humble and pious life compared with that -of the rakish, cannibalistic trout, and they have their reward. Some -day, before the spring is very old, they will give up casting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> their -nets, build their house firmer, though still leaving a chance for a -circulation of water, and fall asleep. They will awaken to glide -heavenward out of the swirl of the current, veritable white angels with -downy wings which they will spread and on which they will soar away to a -new world which is as different from that in which they bound themselves -in logs or granite to escape their enemies as is the old-time orthodox -heaven from the world in which the preachers of it lived.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="IN_THE_WHITE_WOODS" id="IN_THE_WHITE_WOODS"></a>IN THE WHITE WOODS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE snow came out of the north at a temperature of only twenty degrees -above zero, yet, strange to say, for some hours it came damp and froze -immediately on every tree-trunk or twig that it struck. The temperature -remained the same all day and through the night, but the streak of soft -weather somewhere up above which was responsible for the damp snow soon -passed away and frozen crystals sifted down that had in them no -suspicion of moisture. Yet these tangled tips with those already frozen -firmly to the trees, and made a wonderful snow growth the whole woodland -through. The next morning it hung there untouched in the crystal -stillness and as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> woodland people waked they might well have rubbed -their eyes, for they had found a new world.</p> - -<p>It was a mystical white world that had crowded in and mocked the slender -growth of all trees and shrubs with swollen facsimiles in white. The -northerly side of tree-trunks, large or small, showed no longer gray -bark or brown, rough or smooth. Instead, fluffy white boles rose from -the white ground and divided into white limbs, which separated again -into mighty twigs of white. The dark outlines of bare trees, the -delicate tracery of gray and black that massed day before yesterday in -the exquisite dark shades of the winter woods, existed only as a faint -definition of the world of whiteness which had descended upon us in a -night.</p> - -<p>Upon each shrub and tree had grown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> another, its fellow in exact -reproduction of line and curve, only swollen to forty times the size. -This enormity of limb and twig shut off all vistas. Where it had been -easy to see through the bare wood, the brush merely latticing your view -and softening up the middle distance with gray or pink or brown, -according to the growth, now the gaze was tangled in a narrow grotto -heavily decorated with buttress and baluster, with fluting, frieze, and -fillet, with mantel, moulding, mullion, and machicolation, and beat in -vain against a solid wall of alabaster just beyond. The greater pines -were pointed cones of white, each limb drooping with the weight of snow -to its fellow below, and the hangings of the outer tips joining to form -a surface wherein miniature domes, set strangely askew, yet massed in -curves of superb<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> beauty to the making of the symmetrical whole.</p> - -<p>In it all there was no feeling of weight. As a matter of fact it pressed -the smaller shrubs and trees well down toward earth. The narrow woodland -path was barred with a woven portcullis of white that had swung down -from either side. Here and there in the open the smaller pasture cedars -were bowed to the ground, doing reverence to the garment of mystic -purity with which the earth was sanctified as if for the passing of the -grail. In a moment you expected to see some Galahad rise from his knees -with shining face, take horse beneath the marble towers of this woodland -Camelot, and ride down white lanes in holy quest. In the deep wood the -seedling pines broke through the drifts like gnomes from mines of -alabaster, whimsical green faces show<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span>ing beneath grotesque caps and -shoulder capes that were part of the whelming snow. Yet it all looked as -light and airy as any structure of the imagination, seeming as if it -might rise and float away with a change of mood, some substance of which -air castles are built, some great white dream poised to drift lightly -into the realm of the remembered, as white dreams do.</p> - -<p>In woodland pathways where the trees were large enough on either side so -that they did not bend beneath the snow and obstruct, all passage was -noiseless; amongst shrubs and slender saplings it was almost impossible. -The bent withes hobbled you, caught you breast high and hurled you back -with elastic but unyielding force, throttled you and drowned you in -avalanches of smothering white. To attempt to penetrate the thicket was -like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> plunging into soft drifts where in the blinding white twilight you -found yourself inexplicably held back by steel-like but invisible bonds, -drifts where you felt the shivery touch of the cold fingers of winter -magic changing you into a veritable snow man, and as such you emerged. -It was more than baptism, it was total immersion, you were initiated -into the order of the white woods and not even your heel was vulnerable.</p> - -<p>Thus panoplied in white magic, my snowshoes making no sound on the -fluffy floor of woodland paths, I felt that I might stalk invisible and -unheeded in the wilderness world. The fern-seed of frost fronds had -fallen upon my head in fairy grottos built by magic in a night. These -had not been there before, they would not be there to-morrow. To-morrow, -too, the magic might be gone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> but for to-day I was to feel the chill -joy of it.</p> - -<p>A ruffed grouse was the first woodland creature not to see me. I stalked -around a white corner almost upon him and stood poised while he -continued to weave his starry necklaces of footprints in festoons about -the butts of scrubby oaks and wild-cherry shrubs. He too was barred from -the denser tangle which he might wish to penetrate. He did not seem to -be seeking food. Seemingly there was nothing under the scrub oaks that -he could get. It was more as if, having breakfasted well, he now walked -in meditation for a little, before starting in on the serious business -of the day. He too was wearing his snowshoes, and they held him up in -the soft snow fully as well as mine supported me. His feet that had been -bare in autumn now had grown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> quills which helped support his weight but -did not take away from the clean-cut, star-shaped impression of the -toes. Rather they made lesser points between these four greater ones and -added to the star-like appearance of the tracks.</p> - -<p>I knew him for a male bird by the broad tufts of glossy black feathers -with which his neck was adorned. It was the first week in February, but -then Saint Valentine’s day comes on the fourteenth, and on this day, as -all folklore—which right or wrong we must perforce believe—informs us, -the birds choose their mates. My cock partridge must have been planning -a love sonnet, weaving rhymes as he wove his trail in rhythmic curves -that coquetted with one another as rhymes do. His head nodded the rhythm -as his feet fell in the proper places. Now and then he bent forward in -his walk as one</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_006" style="width: 375px;"> -<a href="images/i_179.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_179.jpg" width="375" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>He lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy black -neck feathers and strutted</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">does in deep meditation. If he had hands they would have been clasped -behind his back when in this attitude, as his wings were. Again he -lifted his head high, fluffed out those glossy black neck feathers and -strutted. Here surely was a fine phrase that would reach the waiting -heart of that mottled brown hen that was now quietly keeping by herself -in some secluded corner of the wood. The thought threw out his chest, -and those tail feathers that had folded slimly as he walked in pensive -meditation spread and cocked fan-shaped. I half expected him to open his -strong, pointed bill and gobble as a turkey does under similar -circumstances. The demure placing of star after star in that necklace -trail was broken by a little fantastic <i>pas seul</i>, from which he dropped -suddenly on both feet, vaulted into the air, and whirred away down -arcades of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> snowy whiteness and vanished. I don’t think he saw me. He -was rushing to find the lady and recite that poem to her before he -forgot it.</p> - -<p>On the white page of the path that lay open under groined arches of -alabaster no foot had written a record for many rods, then it seemed as -if from side to side stretched a highway. Back and forth in straight -lines had gone a creature that made a lovely decorative pattern of a -trail, a straight line firmly drawn as if with a stylus, on either side -at a distance say of three-fourths of an inch tiny footmarks just -opposite each other, while alternating with these and nearer the middle -line were fainter and finer footprints.</p> - -<p>Here the tiny deer-mouse had drawn his long tail through the snow, -whisking from stump to stump in a quiver of excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> lest an enemy -gobble him up, shooting across like a gray shuttle weaving this -exquisite pattern that is like that of a dainty embroidery on a lady’s -collar. How he can gallop so regularly and make his tail mark so -straight is more than I can tell. Indeed, so sly he is and so swiftly -does he go that I have never seen him make it. Beside this tiny pattern -the marks where the gray squirrel has leaped across are like those of an -hippopotamus on a rampage and the print of my own snowshoe was as if -there had been a catastrophe and a section of the sky had fallen.</p> - -<p>Along with the tiny mouse tracks were those of our least squirrel, the -chipmunk. There is no difficulty about seeing him. He will almost come -if you whistle for him. If you will camp near his burrow you may teach -him to come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> and eat nuts out of your hand, answering any prearranged -signal, such as whacking them together or chirping to him.</p> - -<p>Even though you are a total stranger he will not hesitate to whisk out -of his hole under the brush heap right in your face and eyes, whisking -back again in great terror, no doubt, but immediately putting out his -whiskered nose to sniff and wrinkle it in comical confusion, half -friendly, half frightened. So I had but to wait a moment before little -<i>Tamias striatus</i> was out from under the brush pile and had flipped over -to a fallen log, ploughing the soft snow off the end of it in a -comically frantic rush to his hole there, the entrance being snowed up. -He was in and out again in a jiffy, standing on his hind legs and -peering over the log and making noses at me, jumping to the</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_007" style="width: 370px;"> -<a href="images/i_182.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_182.jpg" width="370" height="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>He was in and out again in a jiffy</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">top and whirling and jumping down again, and then flashing out and -kicking up crystals in a rush across the road to another hole under -another brush pile, his scantily furred half tail erect and as -humorously vivacious as everything else about him. The chipmunk when he -thinks he is going to be captured and is filled with great fear—half of -it being, I believe, fear that he wont be—is the most delightfully -comical little chap that grows in the woods. If he’d only keep as wild -as that after he is tamed I’d like one for a pet.</p> - -<p>Down in the open meadow where the unfrozen brook ran black in its banks -of snow, touched only here and there with the green of luxuriant -watercress, I found the trail of the crows. Not one was in sight and -there was no sound from them anywhere. It was as if the snow had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> -covered them under and they were unable to break through it. Here, -however, was evidence to the contrary. Surely they had breakfasted, and -no doubt well. They had marched all up and down the low banks, and where -a snowy island lay in midstream they had promenaded it from one end to -the other. Here and there I could see where they had stepped into -shallow water and waded. The marks of muddy claws in the white snow were -much in evidence where they had jumped out again. Just as summer bathers -“tread for quahaugs” in the summer shallows south of the cape, I could -fancy them feeling with their toes for shell-fish and prodding for them -with long bill when found. But they had had a salad, too, with -breakfast. I could see where they had pulled out the watercress all -along and cropped it down to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> larger stems. Even in winter weather -when the snow lies deep the crow knows where to find what is good for -him.</p> - -<p>Where the path wound round the brow of the hill and the birches stand, -their granaries still full of manna for the wandering bird, it seemed -again as if my plunge into the white thicket had baptized me with -invisibility. Of a sudden the air was full of the sound of wings and a -flock of tree sparrows that must have numbered hundreds swung about my -head and charged the snow-covered birches. Their dash shook some snow -off and a few lighted, the others swinging off and having at them again. -This time all found a footing and began to feed eagerly on the seeds -from the tiny cones, scattering the birdlike scales in flocks far -greater than their own.</p> - -<p>I had stopped stock-still at the sound of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> their wings, and they took no -more notice of me than if I had been a snowed-up fence post or a pasture -cedar. I tried to count them, but it was not easy. They seemed to -twinkle from twig to twig like wavelets in the sun, and though their -garb is sober their movements dazzle. Just as I would get a group on a -single tree nicely tallied they flashed as one bird over to another -tree, and mingling with their fellows there spoiled the count. I finally -estimated, rather roughly, that there were three hundred of them, a half -of a light brigade of as merry fellows as I wish to meet. They twittered -jovially and musically among themselves, and now and then one essayed a -little <i>sotto voce</i> song which he never could finish because immediately -his mouth was full.</p> - -<p>Once or twice some inaudible order seemed to thrill through the flock -and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> whirled upward as if a single muscle moved every wing, swung a -short ellipse and lighted again, often in the same trees. As they worked -into the birches almost over my very head I could see every marking on -them; the black mandibles, the lower yellowish at the base, the reddish -brown crown and the back streaked with the same color, with black, and a -yellowish buff, the wing coverts tipped with white and the grayish white -breast with what looks like an indistinct dark spot in the center. In a -kaleidoscopic flock of three hundred or more it is not easy to give -every bird even a passing glance, but I am quite sure there were other -than tree sparrows present. I seemed to see birds without the faint dark -spot in the breast. A few, I know, had a distinctly rufous tint there, -and I fancy swamp sparrows, a few of which winter hereabouts, and -per<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span>haps other birds for sociability’s sake, were with my winter -chippies.</p> - -<p>The shaking of the snow from the trees and their gleaning among the -birch cones had scattered the little seeds which they love so well all -about on the snow and soon they followed them. The surface a little -before had been white. Before the birds were ready to come down it was -spiced so liberally with the seeds and scales that they had shaken down -that it was the color of cinnamon. Then with one motion the flock -dropped like autumn leaves and began a most systematic seed hunt in -which they left no bit of the space unsought. Yet when they were gone -you would hardly find two tracks that crossed; they hopped in winding -parallels that never went over the same ground a second time, leaving -figures much like the mazes which schoolboys of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> long ago used to draw -on their slates. They came almost to my feet and I was beginning to feel -that my fancy of invisibility was very real after all when with a -twitter of alarm and a single united action they whirred into the air -and vanished over the treetops.</p> - -<p>I turned away in chagrin. The magic was destroyed, evidently, and in -turning I saw the cause. Just behind me in the snow with quivering tail -and green eyes glaring accusingly was the family cat. He was hunting far -from home, but I saw contemptuous recognition in his eyes and I knew he -was thinking that here was that great, clumsy creature that was always -scaring away his game.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THE_ROAD_TO_MUDDY_POND" id="THE_ROAD_TO_MUDDY_POND"></a>THE ROAD TO MUDDY POND</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>WO days of greedy south wind had licked up the crisp snow till all the -fields and southerly slopes were bare. Then came the lull before the -north wind should come back, a lull in which you had but to sniff the -air to smell the coming spring; its faint perfume crisped with a frosty -odor that lured the senses like a flavor of stephanotis frappé. It was a -day that tempts a man to take staff and scrip and climb the hills due -south to meet the romance the two days’ wind has brought from far down -the map, perhaps from Venezuela and the highlands that border the banks -of Orinoco. By noon the north wind will be driving it back again, though -bits of it will still be tangled in southerly facing corners of the -hills.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span></p> - -<p>Such a day is fine for cedar swamps. The boggy morasses under foot will -be firm with the winter’s ice still, but the warm wind has swept all -things clear of snow. Into the most tangled depths you may penetrate -with at least firm footing. Where in summer the treacherous mosses wait -to let you through into black depths of soft muck that have no bottom, -you may walk in safety on the way that the winter has laid for you.</p> - -<p>It is not a time of year to find new things, this season of -mid-February, and yet I had hardly faced the bewildering sun a mile -before, seeking the cool depths of a hemlock-clad northern hillside to -rest my eyes from the glare, I found a yellow birch all hung with fluffy -tassels, as if the wine aroma of the air had fooled it into foliage. Now -the yellow birch is not exactly rare in our woods, here south-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span>west of -Boston, but it is rare enough to be called occasional. Where the <i>Betula -alba</i> is as common, almost, as the grass under foot, the <i>Betula lutea</i> -may not occur once in a square mile. I know it only on cold northern -hillsides or in dense swamps where cool springs bathe its roots all -summer long. There the silvery yellow, silky shreds of its outer bark -mark its trunk as a thing of beauty, winter or summer. You feel like -stroking these curls as if they were those of a flaxen-haired youngster -lost in the deep woods and brave but a bit troubled and in need of -comfort from one who knows. That is the only impression the yellow birch -had ever made on me in all my greetings of it, yet here it was wearing a -semblance of young leaves in this wine-sweet February air.</p> - -<p>Even after the cool depths of the woods<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> had cured my eyes of the sun -glare the illusion remained and I had to climb the tree and pluck some -of this foliage before I was sure what it could be. Surely eyes and no -eyes have we all, for, in all my life, I had never noticed what happens -in winter to the catkins of the yellow birch. Instead of hanging rigid -like wee cones, as do those of the white birch, giving up seeds and -scales to sprinkle the snow or the bare earth as the creatures of the -woods have need of them, these had shed their <i>fleur-de-lis</i> scales and -then held them fluttering in the wind, each by a tiny thread. On looking -at them closely I saw the slim, rat-tail spindle sticking out, its -surface file-like with the sockets of seed and scale, but the effect of -the whole was that of fluffy tan-colored tassels hung along the twigs. -Here and there among these <i>fleur-de-lis</i> the round,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> flat, -wing-margined seeds were still tangled by the two pistils which still -remained, seeming like tiny black roots, or something like those hooks -by which the tick-seed fastens to you for a free ride.</p> - -<p>Surely the wilderness families have strongly marked individuality. Both -the white and yellow birches must hold their seeds and scatter them -little by little the whole season through, that they may have the better -chance to germinate and continue the race, and I can never see why they -should not do it in the same way. But they do not. Perhaps this infinite -variability is arranged wisely so that people who blunder about with -half seeing eyes may now and then have them opened a little wider and so -be pleased and teased into blundering on. Another season I shall watch -the yellow birches and find,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> if I can, on what winter date their -catkins blossom into tassels.</p> - -<p>The gravelly ridges of the woodland I tramped as I faced the golden sun -again are singularly like waves of the sea. They roll here and rise to -toppling pinnacles there and tumble about in a confusion that seems at -once inextricable and as if it had in it some rude but unfathomed order. -Surely as at sea every seventh wave is the highest; or is it the ninth, -or the third? Just as at sea, the horizon is by no means a level line. -Wave-strewn ridges shoulder up into it and now and then a peak lifts -that is a cumulation of waves all rushing toward a common center through -some obscure prompting of the surface pulsations. Sometimes at sea your -ship rises on one of these aggregations of waves and you see yawning in -front of it a veritable gulf; or the ship<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> slips down into this gulf and -the toppling pinnacle whelms it and the captain reports a tidal wave to -the hydrographic office, if he is fortunate enough to reach it. So along -my route southward the terminal and lateral moraines, drumlins, and -kames rolled and toppled and leapt upward till they had swung me to a -pinnacled ridge whence I looked down into a stanza from the Idylls of -the King. Along a way like this once rode scornful and petulant Lynette, -followed by great-hearted Gareth, newly knighted, on his first quest;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then, after one long slope was mounted, saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bowl-shaped, through tops of many thousand pines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To westward—in the deeps whereof a mere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round as the red eye of an eagle owl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the half-dead sunset glared;—”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p>That is the way Tennyson saw it, and the counterpart of the gulf, out of -which looked the round-eyed mere, lay at my feet. Long years ago some -first settler, lacking certainly Tennyson’s outlook, stupidly cognizant -only of the worst that his prodding pole could stir up, named the wee -gem of a lake “Muddy Pond.” Here surely was another man with eyes and no -eyes. Round the margin’s lip, summer and winter, rolls the bronze green -sphagnum, its delicate tips simulating shaggy forest growth of hoary -pine and fir. Nestling in its gray-gold heart are the delicate pink -wonder-orchids of late May, the callopogon and arethusa. Here the -pitcher plant holds its purple-veined cups to the summer rain and traps -the insects that slide down its velvety lip and may not climb again -against this same velvet, become suddenly a spiny chevaux-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span>de-frise. All -about are set the wickets of the bog-hobble, the <i>Nesæa verticillata</i>, -which in July will blossom into pink-purple flags—decorations, I dare -say, of wood-goblins who play at cricket here on the soft turf of a -midsummer-night’s tournament.</p> - -<p>Of a summer day this tiny bowl is a mile-deep sapphire, holding the sky -in its heart. When thunder clouds hang threatening over it, it is a -black pearl with evanescent gleams of silver playing in its calm depths; -and always the dense green of the swamp cedars that rim its golden -bog-edge round are a setting of Alexandrite stone such as they mine in -the heart of the Ceylon mountains, decked with lighter pencilings of -chrysoprase and beryl. And some man, looking upon all this, saw only the -mud beneath it! Probably he trotted the bog and only knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> the wickets -of the <i>Nesæa verticillata</i> were there because they tripped him. And -I’ll warrant the goblins, sitting cross-legged in the deepest shadows of -the cedars, waiting for midnight and their game, mocked him with elfin -laughter—and all he heard was frogs.</p> - -<p>Looking down upon it this brilliant February day, with a tiny cloud -drawn across the sun, it was a pearl. The winter and the distance made -the bog edging pure gold in which it shone with all the white radiance -of its opaque, foot-thick ice. Anon the sun came out and what had been a -pearl gathered subtle fires of blue and red in its crystalline heart and -flashed opaline tints back at me that changed again as I plunged down -the hill toward it, and it lay a Norwegian sunstone shooting forth -fire-yellow glows as the rays of the sun caught the right angle. Nor -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> the ice less beautiful when I stood on it. Here opaqueness wove -sprightly patterns with crystalline purity. The surface was smooth under -foot and yet these patterns rose and fell in the ice itself, and it was -hard to believe they were not carved intaglio and then the surface iced -over to a level. It was no prettier ice than I had crossed on the big -pond, but its setting brought out the beauty.</p> - -<p>Ice grown old, after all, is far more beautiful than young ice. -Character is built into it. Living has taught it the highest form of -art, which is to repeat beauty without sameness. What designs might the -makers of floor coverings win from this surface if they would but study -it, and how trite and tame in comparison seem their tiresome -interweaving of square and circle and their endless repetition!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span></p> - -<p>This solid floor, woven by winter witchery, goes on through the spongy -surface of the bog, mingling with it, yet by some necromancy never -interfering with its own intricate patterns of growth. The sphagnum -fluffs up through it with its delicate fiber unharmed. The pitcher -plants sit jauntily holding their ewers to the sky, filled with ice -instead of water, to be sure, but uncracked and waiting in rows as if -for bogle bellboys to rush with them to unseen guests. I found one -flower-scape with its nodding head still persistent. The seed pod had -cracked along the sides, but the umbrella-like style was still there, -opened and inverted, and it had caught many of the seeds that the pod -had spilled and was holding them for a more favorable season, without -doubt.</p> - -<p>Everywhere the solemn cassandra<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> pushed its black twigs up through the -moss and held its leathery leaves, brown and discouraged, drooping yet -persistent. The cassandra always reminds me of thin, elderly New England -spinsters who enjoy poor health. It is so homely and solemn; even in -joyous June it never cracks a smile, but is just as lugubrious and -sallow and barely holds on to an unprofitable life. And all about, -indeed in many places crowding the very life out of it, grow these -brave, virid, white cedars. You’d think it might catch geniality from -them. Their footing is as precarious as its own. Of course, now, the ice -has set all things in its firm grip, but in summer there is little -enough to hold up the swamp cedars and it is only by entwining their -roots and growing them firmly together in a mat that they are able to -keep their sprightly uprightness. So closely are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> the young trees set on -the edge of their grove that it is difficult to penetrate their -intertwining branches, and even when you have passed this barrier you -find the trunks so close that often there is no room to go between them. -Here all branches have passed and the straight trunks run upward in -close parallels making all their struggle at the top. And a struggle it -has been indeed for all that are now alive. You may note this by the -bare poles of those that have lagged behind a little in the fight and -lost the magic touch of sunlight on their tops. These are dead and bare, -and their companions have so immediately taken up their slender space -that you wonder how the dead ones ever got so far as they did. It is a -very solemn temple under these cedars. The living wall the dead within -the catacombs and the sighing of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> the motionless leaves above your head -still leaves you in doubt. It may be trees that sorrow for dead -neighbors or gasp in the struggle to retain their own breathing space.</p> - -<p>Little obstructs your passage, now that the firm ice is underfoot, -unless it is the too close set tree trunks. Goldthread and partridge -berry creep in the moss that mounds about the very stumps of the cedars, -but no other vine or shrub seems to have the vitality to grow here, or -if it had it has wisely used it to flee to more sunny uplands. Not even -in tropical jungles have I seen the struggle for existence so fierce as -it is among these too closely set swamp cedars. One in ten eventually -survives and makes a marketable growth. Other things bring them to -disaster than the choking crowding of their neighbors, however. Here -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> there you can see big trees that lurch in strange fashion, some -this way and some that. This is most often true of a pine that by some -chance has grown among them. The cause is the uncertain footing of the -slimpsy bog. As they get heavier and taller they cannot find sufficient -anchorage in the yielding wallop beneath their roots, and sooner or -later a wind comes that tips them over. But I found in places among the -sheltering larger trees, groups of young ones, cedars, that could have -suffered from no wind, they were so well protected and walled round by -their elders. These were laid down in brief windrows all in the same -direction, and I wonder still what force accomplished it. If it had been -a tropical jungle I should have said that here a hippopotamus wandered -up out of the depths and back again, or here an elephant fled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> from some -retired statesman, but these are not beasts of our frozen forests.</p> - -<p>In one place was another tropical suggestion that was a bit startling. -This was the cast skin of a snake that must have been four inches in -diameter. It was only the white bark of a dead birch that had fallen and -rotted, as to its heart-wood, all away, but the tougher bark remained, -dangling in white folds just as a snake’s skin does when cast.</p> - -<p>But this is not the place to see the swamp cedars at their best. You are -on their gloomy side now. Toward the vivifying sun they turn every -cheerful atom within them and as you look down on them as the sun does -from some near by southern ridge you get the full effect of their -close-set masses of living green and realize the enormous virility -within them. It seems to me that our toughest tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> here in eastern -Massachusetts is the red cedar. It grows on storm-swept rock cliffs -where nothing else but lichens can seem to find a foothold. Yet close -behind it I class this dweller in the rich, moist peat bogs. I find that -many botanists do not differentiate this tree that I call swamp cedar -from the red cedar, <i>Juniperus virginiana</i>. Yet it is nearer this than -it is to the arbor vitæ which is the so-called cedar of the Maine woods. -But it is not the red cedar in one important particular. It does not -have that wonderful red fragrant heart-wood that the red cedar has. That -alone, it seems to me, should give it a separate standing botanically. -Then its leaves are flatter and more of the arbor vitæ type than those -of the red cedar. And there you have it; but I know what happened. Long -ages ago, when staid and sober ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span>greens were more frisky than they -are now some particularly handsome young arbor vitæ lass came down from -the north woods and met and loved one of our husky red cedars. How could -she help it? Then there was a secret trip to Providence, or whatever -place was the Gretna Green of those days, and the elopers settled down -in Plymouth County, or perhaps here in Norfolk. That would account for -my white cedar, and it is the only way I can do it.</p> - -<p>I was two miles further toward the Plymouth woods and was broiling a -chop for my dinner on the fork of a witch-hazel stick over the lovely -clear flame of dry white pine limbs, when I came across the second new -thing of my experience in the winter woods. That was black snow. It was -on the northerly edge of an open meadow, a spot so tangled with wild -rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> and other slender shrubs that it was next to impossible to -penetrate it. For some reason the south wind had failed to carry off all -the snow here, and a thin coating of it lay on the ground. There was a -bit of open water on the edge of the tangle, and I noticed that this was -covered with a black coating. Going down to look closer I found that the -snow as far as I could look into the meadow was covered with this same -surface, making it fairly black. It looked quite like the soot from -black coal, but when I poked at it with my finger to see if it smutted -it hopped nimbly away. The open pool and the snow all about it was -covered with tiny black fleas or some similar skipping minute insect. I -was curious about these tiny black creatures, and I folded many of them -carefully in a leaf of my note book, creasing the edges firmly so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> -I might keep them tight, and put them in my scrip. I intended to put -them under a microscope and see how many legs they had for all this -wonderful skipping; but they had too many for me. When I got home the -paper was blank. They had all skipped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="AMONG_THE_MUSKRAT_LODGES" id="AMONG_THE_MUSKRAT_LODGES"></a>AMONG THE MUSKRAT LODGES</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> ALWAYS know the sound of the east wind as it comes over the Blue Hills -for the twanging of the bow from which winter has shot his Parthian -arrow. The keenest it is in all his quiver of keen darts, for it -penetrates joints in one’s armor that no gale from Arctic barrens has -been able to reach, that no fall of snow or of temperature has weakened. -Facing it to-day and feeling its barbs turn in the marrow of my -breastbone as I crossed Ponkapoag Pond I began to wonder how it fared -with my friends the muskrats who were wintering in the very teeth of it -over on the northwest shore. And so I turned my shoulder to the blow and -my face to the bog where tepees in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> long line spire conically out of -the brown grasses on the bog edge, where the pickerel weed flaunted blue -banners all summer long.</p> - -<p>The thermometer marked a temperature of but a few degrees below -freezing, but it was the coldest day of the winter. The bite of the wind -off Hudson’s Bay is as nothing to the chill which the Arctic sea-water -folds in its unfrozen heart as it sweeps from polar depths down the west -coast of Greenland, along the Labrador shore, round Newfoundland and -down again, shouldering into Massachusetts Bay; the reserve corps of the -winter’s assault, the Old Guard plunging desperately to its Waterloo in -the face of all-conquering spring. This chill the east wind had caught -up from the green depths of the surges he tossed, and made it the poison -of the points which he drove<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> desperately home. Face this wind for a day -and you shall feel the venom working long after you have sought shelter, -nor shall even the cheer of a big open fire drive it easily from your -bones.</p> - -<p>Yet you may draw from the chill this cheer, if you will, that no longer -is the worst yet to come; it is here and soon the prospect must mend. It -seems odd to think that some day next July we shall sniff this frigidity -drawn from the depths of the boreal current, borne on the wings of the -east wind, and revel in the intoxicating ozone with which it soothes our -heat-fevered nostrils.</p> - -<p>Over on the bog edge are twenty-seven lodges, built of bog turf and -roots, dead grass and rushes, almost any rubbish in fact which -Mussascus, as Captain John Smith called him, has been able to get in the -neighborhood. Each has a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> foundation of some sort; one a stump submerged -in the muck, another a rude framework of alder sticks which the muskrat -cuts with his strong, chisel-like teeth and brings in his mouth as a -beaver would; others variously upheld, but all so placed that the -entrance may be beneath the water and beneath the ice also, however -thick it may freeze.</p> - -<p>Little does the muskrat care for my marrow-piercing east wind. I’ll -wager that he never knows it blows, for rarely indeed at this time of -year does he put his nose out where he might feel it. His stairway leads -from the under-water entrance to a cosy and comfortable nest lined with -soft grass where he and his fellows cuddle. The mud-smeared, -water-soaked material of their walls is frozen to adamant. It is porous -enough in spots to give them air for breathing but does<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> not let the -cold wind enter. It is as snug and safe a place as any one could devise. -An enemy must break through from without and long before he can smash -the frozen walls Mussascus has slipped into the water and gone his way -beneath the ice, first to another tepee, or if driven from that on again -to his burrows in the hard bank a thousand feet away.</p> - -<p>Bending my ear close to the nearest lodge I rapped sharply on the rough -wall and listened. There was no sound. Again I rapped and my knock was -all that disturbed the silence within. Outside the frozen marsh grasses -sawed silkily one on another and the frost crystals that the wind was -sweeping from the thick white ice shrilled infinitesimally as they slid -by, but no sound came from the lodge. Evidently no one was at home. At -the next lodge it was different. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> rap was succeeded by a second of -breathless silence, then there was the sound of scrambling, and as I -watched the dark clear ice that always obtains just about the lodge I -saw three silver gleams shoot athwart the clear space and vanish under -the opaque ice just beyond. Three Mussascuses had fled, their dense, -dark, close-set under fur holding the air entangled in its fine fuzz -which is impervious to water, thus accounting for the gleam.</p> - -<p>Like the fur-seal the muskrat has an outer coat of rather coarse hair -and an undervest of much finer, more silky texture. This provides an air -space which enfolds him, however long he remains under water, and its -chill may not reach him nor can the moisture. Only the soles of his feet -and the very tip of his muffle, the nose-pad, are bare. His ears are set -down within his fur, and when he is be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span>neath the surface each holds an -earful of air that catches under-water sounds and transmits them as -faithfully as it does the sounds of the upper world. He swims by -vigorous “dog-paddle” motions of his hind feet, which are large and -furnished with stiff, coarse hair that answers for a webbing between the -toes. Moreover, these feet are “hung-in” a little in a peculiar -club-footed way that makes his gait on land an awkward shamble, but -which allows them to “feather” as an oar does in swimming, thus giving -his propulsive apparatus the greatest possible efficiency.</p> - -<p>People who know Mussascus best differ about the use of his tail. I have -never seen him use it except as a very efficient steering oar, but I -have been told that he sculls with it as a fish does with his, and thus -helps his progress. It is admirably<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> adapted for either purpose, but it -is a tail that does not look as if it belonged to any fur-bearing -animal. It is almost as long as the muskrat himself and has never a hair -from butt to tip. Instead, it is furnished with small stiff scales which -might just as well be those of a snake. It is flattened sidewise and -trimmed down to almost a knife-edge at top and bottom, and the muskrat -uses it most efficiently.</p> - -<p>But however well adapted their feet and tails are for swimming and their -fur for keeping them warm and dry beneath the ice, it would seem as if -the three little soft-furred, brown chaps that I had just driven from -their snug wigwam had a far greater problem to solve than that of warmth -or locomotion. How were they to breathe in the water beneath this -foot-thick coating where was no hole to give them an outlet to the air? -In a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> minutes their lungs must have a new supply of oxygen, and if -let alone they are able to get it in a rather curious fashion. Coming up -beneath the ice, they expel the vitiated air, making a bubble which in a -short time absorbs new oxygen from the ice and water; then they -re-breathe it and go on.</p> - -<p>In the early autumn when the ice is thin and clear you may capture -Mussascus by first driving him from his lodge, then following him as he -swims, a silvery streak beneath the ice, till he makes that telltale -bubble. Then go up and hit the ice sharply over the bubble and you drive -the little fellow away from his own breath and drown him. But you would -be unable to play any such mean trick as this along the Ponkapoag bog -edge now, for the muskrats are abundantly provided for, and I believe -they did it themselves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> Here and there along by their tepees you find -open breathing holes. These, I am quite sure, the little fellows keep -open, just to be able now and then to take a glimpse at the upper world, -though they do not need them otherwise. But that is not the provision -which I mean. As far along the bog front as the tepees go there are -everywhere big white air-bubbles. From the tepees out into the pond they -show in many places for a distance of a hundred feet or more, and then -cease. Nowhere else in the pond are these bubbles and I believe the -muskrats have stored them here in their various excursions as relays, -providing against just such folk as myself, who might come along, force -them from their homes, and drown them beneath the thick ice covering. -Thus provided, the three that I had driven out would have no trouble in -reaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> the most distant tepee or the higher bank beyond the bog edge, -where are their summer burrows.</p> - -<p>Nor need they trouble their minds the winter through about provisions. -Some curious skater or perhaps a would-be fur dealer has been along at -one end of the bog and broken into a number of houses and scattered -others all to bits. A long thaw enabled him to do this, else the winter -had kept them so safe from vandals that only a heavy ax or pick would -give entrance. Among the ruins that this human earthquake caused are fat -roots of the yellow pond lily, the spatter dock, as long as my arm. It -looks as if some of the houses were half built of these petrified -reptiles broken in chunks, scaly looking remnants of a previous -geological age. These are the muskrat’s bread, or perhaps we might -better say his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> potatoes. Rough and forbidding as they look they are -white and crisp inside, and though their taste is as flat and insipid as -that of a raw potato to you and me the muskrat votes them delicious and -satisfying. The bottom of the pond is stored with them and he has but to -dive and dig, and he even buttresses his winter wigwams with them.</p> - -<p>If he wants something a little more spicy there are spots in the bog, -now safe under water and ice but within easy reach of a submarine like -himself, where grow the pungent roots of the calamus, the sweet flag, of -which he is very fond and which, when dried and sugared, most humans -like to nibble. Stored all along the shallows are his shell-fish, the -fresh water mussels whose thin shells he can easily tear open and whose -white flesh he finds exceedingly toothsome. These, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> are as -available in winter as in summer. Indeed some of his houses are built in -the autumn, not so much for winter homes as restaurants where he may -dine in seclusion on these very mollusks. Quite a distance from the bog, -over in a shallow part of the pond, is a bed of these mussels with a -flat-topped rock near by rising above the surface. Here last fall the -muskrats built a lodge, right on the rock, which they used for this -purpose. The first skaters kicked this lodge to pieces. It was fairly -crammed with the empty shells of many a rare feast, showing that here -Mussascus had undoubtedly entertained his friends in true Bohemian -style.</p> - -<p>So, while I shivered in the searching east wind on the sky side of the -ice, the muskrats were well fed and comfortable in a region of even -higher temperature, a country where the spring, which we say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> comes up -out of the south, but the muskrat knows wells up out of the ground -beneath, is already at his door. Its warmth is in the bog below and has -softened and even melted the ice all about the tepees. The ice on the -pond is a foot thick still, but the water beneath it is thrilled with -this same potency and you have but to stir it to sniff its fragrance. -Below the pond the brook which is its outlet splashes over the -long-abandoned sills of what was a gristmill dam in the days of the -early settlers. Here in spite of the keen lances of the wind and its -roar in the frozen maples overhead, I heard the soft tones of the coming -season in every babble of the brook. All the air was full of a fresh, -inviting fragrance which the water gives off as it flows. All the pond -is full of it beneath the ice already, and the muskrat breathes it in -his every excursion under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> the crystal depths. Soon he will abandon the -winter houses, which as soon as the frost leaves them will sag and -flatten and begin to sink into the bog itself, building its outer edge a -little firmer here and there, and thus helping it in its yearly -encroachment on the pond itself. As the ages have gone by, Mussascus has -been a pretty potent factor in this encroachment.</p> - -<p>As the beaver has been a maker of ponds and a conserver of streams, -holding and delaying their waters with his dams, so the muskrat has -helped in the making of meadows and the sanding and grading of pond -edges. The first is done by his winter nests, the second by his summer -burrows which start under water at the pond edge and slant along near -the surface for thirty to fifty feet. Many cubic yards of sand and loam -are dug from these burrows and spread along<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> in the shallows. His river -habits are strong upon him in this work, for he usually makes a delta of -entrances, three or four leading up into the same passage which often -has a wee exit above water, near the edge. Here if you are particularly -fortunate you may in midsummer see his young poke their noses up, -longing for a peek at the great world, before they are big enough to -swim out into it. Here, too, weasel and mink sometimes find entrance and -devour his family. But there are three litters a year, as a rule, so the -occasional weasel serves to keep down a too great increase in the -population.</p> - -<p>His greatest enemy, however, is man, who so pollutes the streams with -sewage and factory refuse that no self-respecting muskrat can live in -many of them, and who hunts him for his fur for the making of automobile -coats. Yet in the case of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> my Ponkapoag Pond friends man’s hand for once -is for him rather than against. His home there is now a part of the park -system and he may be shot or trapped only under penalty of the law. This -has been so for some years now and I think it explains the numbers of -the winter lodges which are this year greater than ever before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THICK_ICE" id="THICK_ICE"></a>THICK ICE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N the winter the pond finds a voice. The great sheet of foot-thick, -white ice is like a gigantic disk in a telephone, receiver and -transmitter in one, sending and receiving messages between the earth and -space. Probably these messages pass equally in summer, only the -instruments are so tuned then that our finite ears may not perceive -them; for the surface of the pond has its water disk in the summer no -less than in winter, but an exquisitely thinner and finer one.</p> - -<p>Taking to-day my first canoe trip of the year about the edges where the -imperative orders of the coming spring have opened clear water for a -half-hundred feet, I could not help noticing this thinner disk.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> The -west wind blew keen, but lightly, and had crowded the ice over toward -the eastern shore, leaving me free northwest passage in sunny shallows -where no ripple disturbed. Every dip of the paddle threw drops of water -on the surface, drops that shone like diamonds in the warm sun, but -sought, always for a time in vain, to reunite with their kindred water. -This invisible barrier held them up and they rolled about without -wetting it, just as they might have on a glossy disk of metal, though -they finally vanished into it. Like the drops the disk was made up of -molecules of water, but the fact that these rested on the very summit of -their fellows and between them and the air seemed to change their -character and give them a property of impenetrability.</p> - -<p>It is this disk of water on water that holds up the summer water -striders, lean<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> and ferocious-looking insects that skip about on the -surface, the tips of their long legs denting it but never being wet. -There is a big black land spider that lives on the water’s edge summers, -who is husky and heavy, yet will run along the surface, galloping and -jumping just as if on a dry and sandy beach and neither falling in nor -wetting his feet.</p> - -<p>When I see the silver dimples that the water strider’s feet make in this -elastic surface and note this land spider galloping across a cove, the -disk of the pond’s summer telephone receiver and transmitter becomes -very real to my eyes. Very likely the under-water people, mullet and -bream and perch, read these messages in summer and know in advance what -the weather is going to be. If not, what is it that stops their feeding -and disturbs them before any rumble of the approach<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span>ing thunderstorm has -reached my ears? Perhaps in this way they learn of other universe -happenings, if such are the subjects of messages that pass, though I am -not sure of this, for such information as I have been able to intercept -has always referred to approaching meteorological conditions.</p> - -<p>They come to my ears only in winter, after the ice has reached a -thickness of a foot or so, these promptings out of unknown space. -Sometimes you need to be very near the receiver to note them. It is not -possible for a mile-square, foot-thick telephone disk to whisper, yet -often it grumbles only a hoarse word or two at so deep a pitch that you -would hardly know it was spoken. The lowest note on a piano is shrill in -comparison to this tone, audible only when the ear is within a few feet -of the ice. But there are other<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> times when the winter ice on the pond -whoops and roars, and bellows and whangs as if all Bedlam were let loose -and were celebrating Guy Fawkes day. A mile away, of a still winter -evening, you may hear this and be dismayed, for the groanings and -bellowings are such as belong to no monsters of the present day, though -they might be echoes of antedeluvian battles corked within the earth for -ages and now for the first time let loose.</p> - -<p>It is all very simple, of course, says my friend the scientist. It is -caused by vibrations due to the expanding or contracting of the ice, or -the expanding or contracting of a portion of it causing big cracks to -run hither and thither. It means simply that a change in temperature is -going on.</p> - -<p>But does it? Or if so, is that all it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> means? I crossed the pond not -long ago of a beautiful springlike morning, after the sun had been up -for two hours or more. There was then no voice in the receiver other -than the gentle thrumming caused by the chopping of the fishermen, -making holes wherein to set pickerel traps, nor was there a cloud in the -sky. An hour later the soft haze of a coming warm gale spread over the -horizon to the southward, and as if at the touch of a key the pond began -to speak a word now and then that rapidly changed to full conversation. -From the near hilltop where I stood it was as if I had cut in on a -telephone line where two giants were eagerly talking under conditions -that made the hearing a difficult matter. There was question and answer, -query and interruption and repetition and change of tone from a low -voice to a shout.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was humorously like a fellow townsman having trouble with Central so -far as inflection went, but there was a quality in the tone which barred -the human. You had but to listen with closed eyes to know that here -spoke the primal forces of nature. You may hear that same quality in the -voice of a gale at sea. I don’t mean the shrilling of the wind in the -rigging, or the cry of the waters, even, but that burbling undertone of -the upper air currents, growling and shouting at one another as they -roar by far overhead. An Arabian might say these are the voices of -Afrites, journeying through the air to the kingdom of Ethiopia. So even -in the bright sun of that springlike morning these solemn voices of the -winter ice seemed like echoes of messages superhuman, passing from deep -to deep.</p> - -<p>At the time I laid the cause to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> changes in temperature produced by -the warmth of the morning sun on the thick ice. Yet the uproar began -after the sun had been shining for an hour or two, and it ceased within -a half-hour. That night came the south blow and a warm storm.</p> - -<p>In the whirligig of our New England winter weather the soft rain and -strong south wind passed. Then the wind blew strong from the northwest -and fair skies and low temperature prevailed for some days, welding the -erstwhile softened ice into an elastic surface as resonant as tempered -steel. Then came a still warm day in which we had the same increase of -temperature under springlike skies as on that previous day. Yet the pond -never uttered a word—audible to my listening human ears. Here were the -conditions like those of the other message period, yet not a word was -said. Even the soft haze which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span> presaged another south blow filled the -sky, so apparently nothing was wanted but the voice at the other end of -the line. It was along in the evening that I heard the first call, -followed rapidly by a great uproar, so that people heard it in their -houses half a mile or more away. Immediately I looked up the -thermometer. The temperature had not changed a degree for hours. Yet -here were the primal forces telephoning back and forth to one another -and fairly making the welkin ring with their hubbub. Surely wires were -crossed somewhere on the ether waves, or else the tempers of the primal -forces themselves were out of sorts.</p> - -<p>I seemed to hear familiar words in their roarings, admonitions to get -farther away from the transmitter, requests for strangers to get off the -line and other little courtesies that pass current in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> telephone -booth; and so for a half-hour they kept it up. It was all very ghostly -and disquieting and savoring of the superhuman to listen to it in the -night and wonder what it was all about. At last one or the other giant -hung up the receiver with a tremendous bang, and nothing more was to be -heard but the mutterings of the other, grumbling about it in notes low -and tremendously deep.</p> - -<p>Before morning the wind was blowing a wild gale from the south, rain was -pouring in torrents and we were evidently on the outer edge of a winter -hurricane that had been well up the coast, perhaps as far as Nantucket, -when the pond began to talk about it. No; I do not think changes in -temperature have much to do with it. My explanation for the scientist is -that these noises begin with a drop in the atmospheric pressure, a -region of low<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> barometer moving up in advance of the storm. Taking the -pressure quite suddenly off the ice would start all the air imprisoned -in solution beneath it to pushing upward for a chance to get away. No -wonder it groans and whoops with all that wind in its wame.</p> - -<p>But privately I am not so sure. We have so many sure-thing theories, and -so much definite knowledge to-day that to-morrow is all discredited and -cast aside leaving us groping for another theory, that it is just as -easy to believe myself eavesdropping at telephone talk between giants. -That particular night it sounded to me like Hercules on his way up from -Hades with Cerberus under his arm and a bit over-anxious lest the -deities fail to have the dog pound ready for him on arrival in the upper -regions—but of course that’s pagan myth. Anyway it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> was a great uproar. -I fancy winter ice makes the same outcry on other ponds, though I never -happened to hear it anywhere else.</p> - -<p>To-day the ice was quiet enough on my side of the pond, though you could -see where it had been at work. With the west wind as team mate it was -dredging and grading over on the east shore. This is the every-day -winter work of thick ice. It picks up big rocks on the beach and carries -them off into deep water or moves them up or down the shore as it sees -fit. But always it pushes back the sand and gravel and stones on low -shores and steadily builds them up till you find wide shallow ridges -between the water’s edge and the slope of the land farther ashore. My -pond is very young, scarcely three-quarters of a century old, yet it -shows marked evidence of this work all along<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> shore. When ice is thick -and the wind strong, especially toward spring when there is apt to be -free water along the edge, you may stand by and see the dredging effect -at work, see the low, long mound of gravel or sand slide backward up the -beach while the edge of the floe crumples and grinds and crumbles, but -still moves irresistibly to its work.</p> - -<p>Over at Ponkapoag Pond, which is perhaps a hundred thousand years older, -the effect of this pushing ice through the ages, working at various -levels, has been to produce mounds and dikes almost beyond belief. -Moreover, these are placed in such situations that it is plain to see -that the water was for the greater part of that long time some feet -higher than now. In my first acquaintance with these ridges I thought -them dikes raised by modern men, early farmers, perhaps, who thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> for -some occult reason banked the pond as they surrounded their fields with -the stone fences which last still. No man of to-day, however ardent a -farmer, builds these great barriers between field and field. Yet even -with the stone walls before the eye it is hard to believe that men built -dykes along the pond shore that averaged a hundred feet across and were -in some places much more. A ten-foot bank would do, and it was hard to -believe that so much labor would be willingly wasted. Yet along the -Ponkapoag Pond shore in one place is a barrier many feet high and broad -built, not of sand, but of the rough slate rock of the region, thrown -together loosely in huge rough blocks and tamped with earth. This is so -much bigger than any of the field-enclosing stone walls that it puts the -modern farmer quite out of the question, and on finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> it I had -pleasant dreams of a prehistoric race of mound-builders who might have -preceded the Indians in their occupation of the land and have built -these pond embankments for purposes of their own.</p> - -<p>Again my scientific friend disapproves my dream theory in well-chosen -argument that is very convincing—to him. Nevertheless I go my way with -mind equally divided,—between theories as to prehistoric -men-mound-builders and the probabilities of the work having been done by -that great beaver which, according to the Algonquin legend, made the -world out of mud brought up from the bottom of a lake.</p> - -<p>Mind you, I am quite convinced that it is the ice which is doing this on -the Reservoir shore, but Ponkapoag—that is far enough away to be in the -land of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span> legend and all sorts of wonderful things may have happened on -its borders.</p> - -<p>Whatever its work, the ice for this winter has nearly completed it. In -early December its crystalline structure was that of ferns, laid flat -and interwoven, making it strong and elastic. All semblance of these has -vanished, and there remains but a loosely adhering structure built like -the Giant’s Causeway in the north of Ireland of vertical irregular -columns jammed together side by side. Moisture is all between these, and -if the temperature is below freezing cements them firmly together, and -it is safe to walk on the surface. The ice is almost a foot thick still, -but let a warm spring sun in on it, and this cement softens, and what -seems a firm foundation crumbles and fails beneath your foot. All along -the edges to-day the process of disinte<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span>gration was going on, and you -could hear the little seeping swan song of these ice columns as they -slid apart and lay flat, making mush ice in the open water where they -soon dissolved and disappeared. Thus the ice waits the mandate of the -spring. Some day, soon, it will fall apart as if at a word, and vanish, -and by that token we shall know that the winter has really gone, and we -shall go about in a pleasant glow, listening for the first voice of the -spring frogs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2> - -<p class="c"><a href="#A">A</a>, -<a href="#B">B</a>, -<a href="#C">C</a>, -<a href="#D">D</a>, -<a href="#E">E</a>, -<a href="#F">F</a>, -<a href="#G">G</a>, -<a href="#H">H</a>, -<a href="#I">I</a>, -<a href="#J">J</a>, -<a href="#K">K</a>, -<a href="#L">L</a>, -<a href="#M">M</a>, -<a href="#N">N</a>, -<a href="#O">O</a>, -<a href="#P">P</a>, -<a href="#R">R</a>, -<a href="#S">S</a>, -<a href="#T">T</a>, -<a href="#U">U</a>, -<a href="#V">V</a>, -<a href="#W">W</a>.</p> - -<p class="nind"> -<span class="lettre"><a name="A" id="A">A</a></span><br /> - -Actias luna, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Afrite, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -Algonquin, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Amina, <a href="#page_10">10</a><br /> - -Apple tree, <a href="#page_110">110</a>, <a href="#page_116">116</a>, <a href="#page_132">132</a><br /> - -Arbor vitæ, <a href="#page_210">210</a>, <a href="#page_211">211</a><br /> - -Arctic barrens, <a href="#page_4">4</a><br /> - -Arethusa, <a href="#page_155">155</a>, <a href="#page_201">201</a><br /> - -Asplenium trichomanes, <a href="#page_84">84</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="B" id="B">B</a></span><br /> - -Bahamas, <a href="#page_70">70</a><br /> - -Barnacle, <a href="#page_165">165</a><br /> - -Beaver, <a href="#page_231">231</a><br /> - -Bedlam, <a href="#page_242">242</a><br /> - -Bee, honey, <a href="#page_36">36</a><br /> - -Beech, <a href="#page_98">98</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_119">119</a>, <a href="#page_120">120</a><br /> - -Bermudas, <a href="#page_90">90</a><br /> - -Betula alba, <a href="#page_195">195</a><br /> - -—— lutea, <a href="#page_195">195</a><br /> - -Birch, <a href="#page_8">8</a>, <a href="#page_10">10</a>, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_71">71</a>, <a href="#page_103">103</a>, <a href="#page_112">112</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_135">135</a>, <a href="#page_139">139</a>, <a href="#page_149">149</a>, <a href="#page_188">188</a>, <a href="#page_210">210</a><br /> - -Birch, yellow, <a href="#page_194">194</a>, <a href="#page_196">196</a>, <a href="#page_197">197</a><br /> - -—— white, <a href="#page_197">197</a><br /> - -Blackberry, <a href="#page_17">17</a><br /> - -Blueberry, <a href="#page_34">34</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a><br /> - -Bluebird, <a href="#page_109">109</a>, <a href="#page_110">110</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -Blue Hill, <a href="#page_89">89</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a>, <a href="#page_98">98</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a>, <a href="#page_105">105</a>, <a href="#page_217">217</a><br /> - -Bog-hobble, <a href="#page_201">201</a><br /> - -Bream, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Buttercup, <a href="#page_127">127</a><br /> - -Buttonball, <a href="#page_101">101</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="C" id="C">C</a></span><br /> - -Calamus, <a href="#page_228">228</a><br /> - -Calopogon, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Callosamia promethia, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Camelot, <a href="#page_174">174</a><br /> - -Carolinas, <a href="#page_92">92</a><br /> - -Cassandra, <a href="#page_204">204</a>, <a href="#page_205">205</a><br /> - -Cat, <a href="#page_145">145</a>, <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -Cat-o-nine-tails, <a href="#page_126">126</a><br /> - -Cedar, <a href="#page_113">113</a>, <a href="#page_139">139</a>, <a href="#page_140">140</a>, <a href="#page_186">186</a>, <a href="#page_194">194</a><br /> - -—— red, <a href="#page_91">91</a>, <a href="#page_92">92</a>, <a href="#page_94">94</a>, <a href="#page_201">201</a>, <a href="#page_202">202</a>, <a href="#page_210">210</a><br /> - -—— white, <a href="#page_205">205</a>, <a href="#page_207">207</a>, <a href="#page_209">209</a>, <a href="#page_211">211</a><br /> - -Cerberus, <a href="#page_247">247</a><br /> - -Cherry, wild, <a href="#page_177">177</a><br /> - -Chestnut, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_96">96</a>, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_98">98</a>, <a href="#page_99">99</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_103">103</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_145">145</a><br /> - -Chickadee, <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a>, <a href="#page_120">120</a>, <a href="#page_121">121</a><br /> - -Chicken, <a href="#page_114">114</a><br /> - -Chickweed, <a href="#page_69">69</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span>Chipmunk, <a href="#page_181">181</a>, <a href="#page_183">183</a><br /> - -Cranberry, mountain, <a href="#page_95">95</a><br /> - -Crow, <a href="#page_110">110</a>, <a href="#page_111">111</a>, <a href="#page_112">112</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_144">144</a>, <a href="#page_145">145</a>, <a href="#page_183">183</a>, <a href="#page_185">185</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="D" id="D">D</a></span><br /> - -Dandelion, <a href="#page_69">69</a><br /> - -Deer, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -Demoiselle flies, <a href="#page_84">84</a><br /> - -Dragon fly, <a href="#page_84">84</a><br /> - -Duck, wild, <a href="#page_55">55</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="E" id="E">E</a></span><br /> - -Eliot memorial bridge, <a href="#page_95">95</a><br /> - -Ethiopia, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -Ettrick Shepherd, <a href="#page_26">26</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="F" id="F">F</a></span><br /> - -Fern, <a href="#page_51">51</a>, <a href="#page_52">52</a>, <a href="#page_70">70</a>, <a href="#page_104">104</a><br /> - -—— Christmas, <a href="#page_77">77</a>, <a href="#page_78">78</a>, <a href="#page_84">84</a><br /> - -—— cinnamon, <a href="#page_73">73</a>, <a href="#page_81">81</a><br /> - -—— crested shield-, <a href="#page_80">80</a><br /> - -—— evergreen wood-, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_104">104</a><br /> - -—— flowering, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -—— hay-scented, <a href="#page_82">82</a><br /> - -—— interrupted, <a href="#page_73">73</a><br /> - -—— lady, <a href="#page_83">83</a><br /> - -—— maidenhair spleenwort, <a href="#page_84">84</a><br /> - -—— ostrich, <a href="#page_71">71</a>, <a href="#page_74">74</a>, <a href="#page_81">81</a><br /> - -—— polypody, <a href="#page_82">82</a>, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_84">84</a>, <a href="#page_85">85</a>, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_104">104</a>, <a href="#page_105">105</a><br /> - -—— royal, <a href="#page_76">76</a><br /> - -—— seed, <a href="#page_176">176</a><br /> - -—— sensitive, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -—— spinulose wood-, <a href="#page_79">79</a><br /> - -Flag, blue, <a href="#page_127">127</a><br /> - -Flicker, <a href="#page_115">115</a>, <a href="#page_116">116</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -Fly, caddice, <a href="#page_163">163</a><br /> - -—— house, <a href="#page_30">30</a>, <a href="#page_31">31</a>, <a href="#page_32">32</a>, <a href="#page_33">33</a><br /> - -Fox, <a href="#page_33">33</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_145">145</a><br /> - -Frog, <a href="#page_142">142</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="G" id="G">G</a></span><br /> - -Galahad, <a href="#page_174">174</a><br /> - -Gareth, <a href="#page_199">199</a><br /> - -Gerardia, <a href="#page_93">93</a><br /> - -Giant’s Causeway, <a href="#page_252">252</a><br /> - -Goldenrod, <a href="#page_6">6</a>, <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_19">19</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_127">127</a><br /> - -Goldfinch, <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_157">157</a><br /> - -Goldthread, <a href="#page_207">207</a><br /> - -Goose, wild, <a href="#page_155">155</a><br /> - -Gosnold, Bartholomew, <a href="#page_92">92</a><br /> - -Grass, purple wood, <a href="#page_95">95</a><br /> - -Grasshopper, <a href="#page_114">114</a><br /> - -Greenbriar, <a href="#page_100">100</a><br /> - -Greenland, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Grouse, ruffed, <a href="#page_144">144</a>, <a href="#page_160">160</a>, <a href="#page_177">177</a><br /> - -Gulliver, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -Guy Fawkes, <a href="#page_241">241</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="H" id="H">H</a></span><br /> - -Hancock Hill, <a href="#page_100">100</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a>, <a href="#page_103">103</a>, <a href="#page_105">105</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span>Hawk, <a href="#page_145">145</a><br /> - -—— chicken, <a href="#page_114">114</a><br /> - -—— sharp-shinned, <a href="#page_113">113</a>, <a href="#page_115">115</a><br /> - -Hemlock, <a href="#page_195">195</a><br /> - -Hepatica, <a href="#page_69">69</a><br /> - -Hercules, <a href="#page_247">247</a><br /> - -Hickory, <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_14">14</a>, <a href="#page_91">91</a>, <a href="#page_92">92</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_94">94</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a><br /> - -Hornet, white-faced, <a href="#page_25">25</a>, <a href="#page_27">27</a>, <a href="#page_35">35</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a><br /> - -Houghton’s pond, <a href="#page_96">96</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a><br /> - -Hudson’s Bay, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Hylas, <a href="#page_142">142</a>, <a href="#page_148">148</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="I" id="I">I</a></span><br /> - -Idylls of the King, <a href="#page_199">199</a><br /> - -Indian, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="J" id="J">J</a></span><br /> - -Juniperus virginiana, <a href="#page_210">210</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="K" id="K">K</a></span><br /> - -Kant, Immanuel, <a href="#page_48">48</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="L" id="L">L</a></span><br /> - -Labrador, <a href="#page_3">3</a>, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Ladies’ delights, <a href="#page_68">68</a><br /> - -Lemnas, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Lilliputians, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -Lily, yellow pond-, <a href="#page_227">227</a><br /> - -Limpet, <a href="#page_165">165</a><br /> - -Loon, <a href="#page_57">57</a>, <a href="#page_58">58</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_60">60</a>, <a href="#page_62">62</a>, <a href="#page_63">63</a><br /> - -Louisiana, <a href="#page_3">3</a><br /> - -Lynette, <a href="#page_199">199</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="M" id="M">M</a></span><br /> - -Maple, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_71">71</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a>, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_139">139</a>, <a href="#page_157">157</a>, <a href="#page_160">160</a><br /> - -Mink, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_153">153</a>, <a href="#page_160">160</a>, <a href="#page_162">162</a>, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Moth, luna, <a href="#page_15">15</a><br /> - -—— spice-bush silk, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Mouse, <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_147">147</a><br /> - -—— deer, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -—— field, <a href="#page_133">133</a>, <a href="#page_148">148</a><br /> - -—— meadow, <a href="#page_144">144</a><br /> - -Muddy Pond, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Mullet, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Muskrat, <a href="#page_2">2</a>, <a href="#page_18">18</a>, <a href="#page_21">21</a>, <a href="#page_217">217</a>, <a href="#page_220">220</a>, <a href="#page_224">224</a>, <a href="#page_226">226</a>, <a href="#page_228">228</a>, <a href="#page_229">229</a>, <a href="#page_230">230</a><br /> - -Mussascus, <a href="#page_219">219</a>, <a href="#page_221">221</a>, <a href="#page_222">222</a>, <a href="#page_223">223</a>, <a href="#page_225">225</a>, <a href="#page_229">229</a>, <a href="#page_231">231</a><br /> - -Mussel, fresh-water, <a href="#page_228">228</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="N" id="N">N</a></span><br /> - -Nantucket, <a href="#page_246">246</a><br /> - -Nebular hypothesis, <a href="#page_47">47</a><br /> - -Nephrodium spinulosum, <a href="#page_81">81</a><br /> - -Nesæa verticillata, <a href="#page_201">201</a><br /> - -Newfoundland, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span>Nuthatch, red-breasted, <a href="#page_120">120</a>, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_122">122</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="O" id="O">O</a></span><br /> - -Oak, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_14">14</a>, <a href="#page_17">17</a>, <a href="#page_120">120</a>, <a href="#page_126">126</a>, <a href="#page_134">134</a>, <a href="#page_142">142</a>, <a href="#page_148">148</a><br /> - -—— black, <a href="#page_140">140</a><br /> - -—— red, <a href="#page_95">95</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_131">131</a>, <a href="#page_140">140</a><br /> - -—— scrub, <a href="#page_90">90</a>, <a href="#page_131">131</a>, <a href="#page_177">177</a><br /> - -—— white, <a href="#page_5">5</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a><br /> - -Old Guard, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Orinoco, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Osmunda regalis, <a href="#page_74">74</a><br /> - -Owl, <a href="#page_145">145</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="P" id="P">P</a></span><br /> - -Palm, <a href="#page_51">51</a>, <a href="#page_52">52</a><br /> - -Partridge, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_178">178</a><br /> - -Partridge berry, <a href="#page_76">76</a>, <a href="#page_126">126</a>, <a href="#page_207">207</a><br /> - -Perch, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Pickerel weed, <a href="#page_217">217</a><br /> - -Pigeon, <a href="#page_116">116</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -Pine, <a href="#page_13">13</a>, <a href="#page_16">16</a>, <a href="#page_50">50</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_125">125</a>, <a href="#page_135">135</a>, <a href="#page_136">136</a>, <a href="#page_137">137</a>, <a href="#page_139">139</a>, <a href="#page_149">149</a>, <a href="#page_156">156</a>, <a href="#page_173">173</a>, <a href="#page_208">208</a><br /> - -Pipsissewa, <a href="#page_125">125</a><br /> - -Pitcher plant, <a href="#page_200">200</a>, <a href="#page_204">204</a><br /> - -Pleiades, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -Plesiosaurus, <a href="#page_52">52</a><br /> - -Polypody, <a href="#page_82">82</a>, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_84">84</a>, <a href="#page_85">85</a>, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_104">104</a>, <a href="#page_105">105</a><br /> - -Polystichum acrostichoides, <a href="#page_78">78</a><br /> - -Ponkopoag pond, <a href="#page_3">3</a>, <a href="#page_217">217</a>, <a href="#page_233">233</a>, <a href="#page_249">249</a>, <a href="#page_250">250</a>, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Pyrola, <a href="#page_76">76</a>, <a href="#page_126">126</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="R" id="R">R</a></span><br /> - -Rabbit, <a href="#page_131">131</a>, <a href="#page_133">133</a>, <a href="#page_134">134</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -Ranunculus bulbosus, <a href="#page_127">127</a>, <a href="#page_128">128</a><br /> - -—— repens, <a href="#page_127">127</a><br /> - -Rat, brown, <a href="#page_148">148</a><br /> - -Reservoir Pond, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Rose, wild, <a href="#page_211">211</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="S" id="S">S</a></span><br /> - -Samia cecropia, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Scorpion, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_29">29</a><br /> - -Seal, fur, <a href="#page_222">222</a><br /> - -Skunk, <a href="#page_6">6</a>, <a href="#page_134">134</a>, <a href="#page_145">145</a><br /> - -Smilax, wild, <a href="#page_15">15</a><br /> - -Smith, Capt. John, <a href="#page_219">219</a><br /> - -Snail, <a href="#page_161">161</a><br /> - -Snow, black, <a href="#page_211">211</a><br /> - -Snowbird, <a href="#page_8">8</a><br /> - -Sparrow, <a href="#page_8">8</a><br /> - -—— song, <a href="#page_112">112</a>, <a href="#page_113">113</a>, <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_115">115</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -—— swamp, <a href="#page_187">187</a><br /> - -—— tree, <a href="#page_185">185</a><br /> - -Sphagnum, <a href="#page_200">200</a>, <a href="#page_204">204</a>, <a href="#page_205">205</a><br /> - -Spider, land, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Squirrel, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_133">133</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -—— gray, <a href="#page_181">181</a><br /> - -Stephanotis, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Stockton, <a href="#page_122">122</a><br /> - -Struthiopteris germanica, <a href="#page_72">72</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span>Sweet flag, <a href="#page_17">17</a>, <a href="#page_228">228</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="T" id="T">T</a></span><br /> - -Tamias striatus, <a href="#page_182">182</a><br /> - -Telia polyphemus, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Teneriffe, <a href="#page_4">4</a><br /> - -Tennyson, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Toad, <a href="#page_161">161</a><br /> - -Trout, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_161">161</a>, <a href="#page_162">162</a>, <a href="#page_163">163</a>, <a href="#page_164">164</a>, <a href="#page_166">166</a><br /> - -Turkey, <a href="#page_179">179</a><br /> - -Turtle, <a href="#page_161">161</a><br /> - -Turner, Obadiah, <a href="#page_27">27</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="U" id="U">U</a></span><br /> - -Ulysses, <a href="#page_55">55</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="V" id="V">V</a></span><br /> - -Venezuela, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Vespa maculata, <a href="#page_26">26</a>, <a href="#page_35">35</a><br /> - -Violet, wood, <a href="#page_13">13</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="lettre"><a name="W" id="W">W</a></span><br /> - -Wasp, common, <a href="#page_26">26</a><br /> - -—— yellow jacket, <a href="#page_26">26</a><br /> - -Water-strider, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Watercress, <a href="#page_163">163</a><br /> - -Waterloo, <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Weasel, <a href="#page_145">145</a>, <a href="#page_162">162</a>, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Willow, <a href="#page_16">16</a><br /> - -Witch-hazel, <a href="#page_101">101</a><br /> - -Woodchuck, <a href="#page_5">5</a>, <a href="#page_6">6</a>, <a href="#page_134">134</a><br /> - -Woodpecker, downy, <a href="#page_122">122</a><br /> - -Wordsworth, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> -</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/back.jpg" width="338" height="550" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILDWOOD WAYS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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