Betes of tbe IFUgbt 



awake. The drowsy tree-sparrows gathered in 

 the dark cedars of the old worm-fence twittered 

 as if in doubt whether or not they should again 

 be stirring, and from the distant wood rose the 

 sleepy cries of many birds, disturbed but not 

 awake. The brittle skeletons of the dead summer 

 grass trembled as mice hurried by them, and the 

 lispy squeaking of these little travelers, when I 

 blocked their paths, sounded clear and full as the 

 cry of their arch-enemy, the hawk. I know not 

 why it is, but every sound heard during a still, 

 cold winter night has far greater volume than the 

 same sound heard by day. That you are guided 

 as much by hearing as by sight may be reason 

 for this; for how often we can hear approaching 

 footsteps, crunching the crisp snow, long before 

 we see the person approaching. So, too, in the 

 fields, by placing the ear close to the surface of 

 the snow, or even on the bare ground, we can de- 

 tect sounds that could not be heard at mid-day. 

 By a little training our sense of hearing can be 

 taught to locate life that is hidden from us, as the 

 woodpecker hears the grub that nestles beneath 

 the bark of a tree. The sounds at night, in mid- 

 winter, may not be many, but not one is lost to 

 us. The untaxed air gives every utterance full 

 play, and what at other times would be unnoticed 

 comes to us in full measure. Unfortunately, com- 

 ing sometimes without knowledge of its origin, the 

 imagination is wrought to such a pitch that curi- 

 r " 5 



