*88 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



against the coming of the cold. Naturalists who 

 have observed them describe with what hurry and 

 excitement the colony falls to taking in the hay 

 when bad weather threatens to spoil it. 



Hardy little farmers ! Feeble little folk, why do 

 you climb for a home with your tiny, bare-soled 

 feet up, up, even above the eyrie of the eagle*? 

 Why, bold little people, why not descend to the 

 warm valleys where winter comes indeed, but 

 does not stay ? Or farther down, where the grass 

 is green the year around, with never a need to cut 

 and cure a winter's fodder? 



I do not know why nor why upon the toss- 

 ing waves the little petrel makes her bed ; nor 

 why, beneath the waves, " down to the dark, the 

 utter dark," on " the great gray level plains of 

 ooze " the " blind white sea snakes " make their 

 homes, nor why at the north, in the fearful, far- 

 off, frozen north, the little lemmings dwell; nor 

 why, nor why, 



But as I sat there above the clouds listening to 

 the plaintive, trembling whistle of the little cony, 

 and hoping his mate was not dead, and wonder- 

 ing why he stayed here in the barren peaks 

 and how he fared in the long black winter, I 



