A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



the frost was nearly all out of the ground, 

 I passed that way, and found my frog had 

 come out of its seclusion, and was resting 

 amid the dry leaves. There was not much 

 jump in it yet, but its color was growing 

 lighter. A few more warm days, and its 

 fellows, and doubtless itself too, were croak- 

 ing and gamboling in the marshes. 



This incident convinced me of two things ; 

 namely, that frogs know no more about the 

 coming weather than we do, and that they 

 do not retreat as deep into the ground to 

 pass the winter as has been supposed. I 

 used to think the muskrats could foretell an 

 early and a severe winter, and have so writ- 

 ten. But I am now convinced they cannot ; 

 they know as little about it as I do. Some- 

 times on an early and severe frost they seem 

 to get alarmed and go to building their 

 houses, but usually they seem to build early 

 or late, high or low, just as the whim takes 

 them. 



In most of the operations of nature there 

 is at least one unknown quantity ; to find 

 the exact value of this unknown factor is 

 not so easy. The wool of the sheep, the 

 fur of the animals, the feathers of the fowls, 

 the husks of the maize, why are they thicker 



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