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NATURE-STUDY REVIEW [13:8— Nov., 1917 



Look at another picture and see the two little waterways that the 

 beavers have cut out as canals to the houses. They are only about 

 two feet wide, so we can just nose the canoe up into them. Per- 

 haps, by going very quietly, you think, we can get a glimpse of the 

 tenants. Oh foolish fancy! If the last beaver had been one of 

 those whose houses lie on the lake's muddy bottom the place could 

 not appear more devoid of animal life. Go as many times as you 

 will, and as quietly as Silence herself, you will see no sign of Mr. 

 Beaver until you call in the evening. Where is he, then? I can't 

 tell you ; most likely asleep at home. But he is up and away long 

 before you have looked through his roof, and as his front door is 

 under water you do not see him leave. 



Come some evening along towards dusk and quietly pitch camp 

 nearby, invisible and unheard, and you will see this city of silence 

 converted into a city of weird sound. At about eight o'clock the 

 first loud slap of a broad flat tail on the water will announce the 

 arrival of the working-hour, and from then until the first streaks of 

 daylight come you will hear the sound of gnawing teeth on bark, 

 the slap! slap! of tails, and the heavy splash of a laborer entering 

 the water. At times the place seems full of them, and then will 

 come a long period of silence, broken only by trickling water, that 

 low, monotonous gnawing, and perhaps an owl barking, or a song- 

 bird talking dreamily in his sleep. If the moon is shining, — or 

 even by starlight with keen eyes — you may perceive a dark form 

 pushing an arrowy path across the inky surface of the water, and 

 you may hear the gentle lapping as the little swell rolls along the 

 rock at your feet. Tear away a part of their dam before night falls, 

 and perhaps the rushing water, warning them of a leak in their 

 wooden wall, will bring them in a hurry to repair it. One night I 

 came and watched at the broken dam, but was disappointed; they 

 had very sensibly decided to first repair their roof, which my dis- 

 respectful curiosity had torn open. 



So it is an apparently deserted village that we see as we disem- 

 bark and pull the canoe up onto the springy island. The moss is 

 ankle deep. As you walk upon it it sinks down before you and 

 rises up behind and the circular waves travel along the whole mass 

 and continue out upon the water beyond. 



Two of the lodges are very good ones and in excellent condition. 

 Over at the farther edge of the island is another one, smaller, 

 deserted, and with roof caved in. Near the edge of the island and 



