200 so^fE COMMON LAX D-n inns. 



light tliat lie could keep them out of the papers, for this 

 winding ridge marks the line of his devious tunnelling. It 

 is not hard to tell who is out of doors in winter. Whenever 

 a creature puts his foot down in the new snow, he signs him- 

 self with an unmistakable mark. Only the birds do not 

 write themselves in full, but they leave other signs. There 

 are the quill feathers dropped by the hawk as he stripped 

 them from liis prey ; the bark hammered off by the wood- 

 pecker ; bud scales scattered by the grosbeaks ; fine weed-seed 

 set adrift by linnets, red-polls, snow-buntings, and the hardy 

 tree sparrow; the grouse's track, like a line of feather- 

 stitching across the snow. It was a cock grouse, too — see 

 the line where he dragged his wings, as he spread his tail and 

 strutted like a turkey cock. Long life to you, my fine fellow ! 

 But look out for the fox and for the man with a gun ! 



