WHERE SPRING COMES LATE 21 



out of a big slit in a half-decayed poplar. It 

 may be the work of downy, but more probably 

 that of the larger, stronger cousin, the hairy 

 woodpecker. The workman is not around, but 

 here comes chickadee to bid his visitor good-day. 

 What thing is so typical of the cheery optimistic 

 spirit of the North as this little bird — the spirit 

 of the loyal hearts, who say, " Oh, yes; it's cold; 

 but we like it! The air is dry, you know, and 

 you don't feel the frost." 



But enough of the hills, and the snow-shoes 

 are turned northward toward the river valley 

 and its great tributary ravines — the home of the 

 black-tailed buck and the beaver. Little is 

 noted on the open stubble-fields ; even the Arctic 

 owl has taken himself off to other hunting- 

 grounds; and after about a mile the way leads 

 along an old wood-road, down the sharp slope 

 on the west side of a deep ravine, and signs of 

 woods life are met again in plenty. Soon the 

 junction of two such gullies is reached, and it 

 is time to pauses Across the wide cleft, a black- 

 ish, spindle-shaped object at once takes the eye. 

 It appears to be something added to a post of 

 an old fence; but there is only one thing can 

 answer to the color and upright shape, and that 



