The drawing of winter's curtain always reveals a 

 multitude of silent activities* Nature has not been 

 dead nor yet sleeping, but has been quietly active 

 through the long months of snow* The root leaves 

 of Asters and Goldenrods are green and vigorous^ 

 The Evening Primrose has withstood the frost. The 

 Dandelion is green with promise. All the evergreens 

 are awaiting a welcome. But the revelations of 

 animal activity are far more interesting. Ramified 

 burrows of the little Field Mice and Shore Mice arc 

 still preserved in the melting masses of icy snow 

 lingering in shaded hollows. These little fellows are 

 not really Mice, but they are so diminutive that it 

 seems ridiculous to call them by the aggressive name 

 ** Arvicola.*' They are closely related to the Beaver, 

 and during the long winter have made an unusual 

 attempt to imitate the ways of their big, industrious 

 cousin. They have not been content, as usual, with 

 girdling the small trees under the snow. In many 

 places they have cut down shrubs as thick as the 



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