216 PEP ACTON 



much as the myriad leaves of summer. The sun 

 blazes, the sky is without a cloud or a film, yet we 

 walk in a soft white shade. A gentle breeze was 

 blowing on the open crest of the mountain, but one 

 could carry a lighted candle through these snow- 

 curtained and snow-canopied chambers. How shall 

 we see the fox if the hound drives him through this 

 white obscurity? But we listen in vain for the 

 voice of the dog and press on. Hares' tracks were 

 numerous. Their great soft pads had left their 

 imprint everywhere, sometimes showing a clear leap 

 of ten feet. They had regular circuits which we 

 crossed at intervals. The woods were well suited 

 to them, low and dense, and, as we saw, liable at 

 times to wear a livery whiter than their own. 



The mice, too, how thick their tracks were, that 

 of the white-footed mouse being most abundant; 

 but occasionally there was a much finer track, with 

 strides or leaps scarcely more than an inch apart. 

 This is perhaps the little shrew-mouse of the woods, 

 the body not more than an inch and a half long, 

 the smallest mole or mouse kind known to me. 

 Once, while encamping in the woods, one of these 

 tiny shrews got into an empty pail standing in 

 camp, and died before morning, either from the 

 cold, or in despair of ever getting out the pail. 



At one point, around a small sugar maple, the 

 mice-tracks are unusually thick. It is doubtless 

 their granary; they have beech-nuts stored there, 

 I '11 warrant. There are two entrances to the cav- 

 ity of the tree, — one at the base, and one seven 



