Winter Bells. 37 



where I sit a musk-rat pauses and stares at me 

 with evident fear, yet not to the exclusion of 

 astonishment. You here ? he seems to ask, and 

 seeing that I make no movement, a trace of 

 confidence is his, and he turns towards the bells 

 as if the more intently to listen to their music. 

 I feel that I must laugh aloud, and do so, and in 

 an instant my furry friend is gone. Gone, too, 

 was every chickadee and the song-sparrow that 

 had sung in dulcet tones, perched in a mossy 

 nook above the bells. I could hear, for the 

 time, neither crows nor the woodpecker. Our 

 birds are steadily learning a good deal ; have 

 already learned to their sorrow what mankind 

 usually proves to be to them, but never have 

 they rightfully interpreted laughter. Crows 

 laugh, in spite of what the bumptious pro- 

 fessionals may say, and parrots have a keen 

 sense of humor ; but it is wisdom on the part 

 of the rambler not to express himself in such a 

 way when amused by what he sees. Human 

 laughter would be to us a harsh, repelling sound 

 if we did not realize its significance, and we 

 know all too well it often means mischief and 

 not merriment. Like a fool, I laughed, and in 



