ONE autumn I watched a beaver colony and 

 observed the customs of its primitive in- 

 habitants as they gathered their harvest for 

 winter. It was the Spruce Tree Colony, the 

 most attractive one of the sixteen beaver muni- 

 cipalities on the big moraine on the slope of 

 Long's Peak. 



The first evening I concealed myself close to 

 the beaver house by the edge of the pond. Just 

 at sunset a large, aged beaver of striking, patri- 

 archal appearance, rose in the water by the 

 house and swam slowly, silently round the pond. 

 He kept close to the shore and appeared to be 

 scouting to see if an enemy lurked near. On 

 completing the circuit of the pond, he climbed 

 upon the end of a log that was thrust a few feet 

 out into the water. Presently several other 

 beaver appeared in the water close to the house. 

 A few of these at once left the pond and nosed 

 quietly about on the shore. The others swam 



