Where Town and Country Meet 



motion of his kind. Other senses must warn 

 of his coming, if his quarry escapes. 



And escape it does, in almost every in 

 stance, as the snow record proves. Only 

 once or twice in my winter walks have I 

 found any indication of a rabbit or grouse 

 or quail caught napping and captured by a 

 fox. The smaller woodland creatures seem 

 to be possessed of an extra sense, a sort of 

 intuitive detector of approaching peril, that 

 warns them, even when they are sound 

 asleep, of the presence of their natural de 

 stroyers. There seems to be a tiny alarm 

 clock in their brains, or a gong of nerves, 

 with sensitive filaments cast off in all direc 

 tions, which detect in a mysterious way the 

 prowler's approach and set the clapper 

 a-striking. 



See where this ruffed grouse was lying 

 in a bowl-shaped cavity of snow, the sides 

 of which, softened by the warmth of the 

 bird's body, have now frozen to crystalline 

 hardness. When the fox was still twenty 

 feet away, as you see by his sudden leap, 

 the sleeping grouse waked up and sprang 

 from its couch. Observe where the first 

 stroke of the strong wings beat down and 

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