HIS FIRST WINTER 119 



to force the rigours of winter in the roots of fallen 

 trees, or beneath piled brushwood on leaves scraped 

 together, relying on the first heavy snowfall to fill 

 up the chinks. The big brown cousins, who felt 

 the cold in much less degree, holed up considerably 

 later, in caves and the holes of hill-sides. 



One late denner left his hibernating arrange- 

 ments until the last moment, and being caught in 

 a heavy snowstorm, bundled into the nearest shelter 

 that offered — a hollow in the river-bank where a 

 tree had been uprooted, just above a vast beaver 

 pantry, fast glazing over with ice. 



Two or three ardent spirits did not take holing 

 up at all seriously, but intended emerging at inter- 

 vals to see how the world wagged. These, of 

 course, were mercurial specimens, incurably sociable 

 by nature, and none of their relations comfortably 

 ensconced until spring had any patience with them, 

 after the manner of human kindred, to whom more 

 things are showed than some of us understand. 



As to whether or no the time-old superstition 

 that during hibernation bears kill time and obtain 

 sustenance by licking their oily paws is true, I 

 cannot tell you, and it is more than my author's 

 job is worth to find out. A wise publisher showed 



