A WOODLAND VALENTINE 



early hour of the wonder hardly hints the 

 exuberance of its fulfillment. Even the 

 forest dwellers move gravely, thankful for 

 any promise of kindness from the lord of 

 day as he hangs above a sea-gray land- 

 scape, but knowing well that their long 

 duress is not yet to end. Deer pathet- 

 ically haunt the outskirts of farms, gazing 

 upon cattle feeding in winter pasture from 

 the stack, and often, after dark, clearing 

 the fences and robbing the same di- 

 sheveled storehouse. Not a chipmunk 

 winks from the top rail. The woodchuck, 

 after his single expeditionary effort on 

 Candlemas, which he is obliged to make 

 for mankind's enlightenment, has retired 

 without being seen, in sunshine or shadow, 

 and has not the slightest intention of dis- 

 turbing himself just yet. Though snow- 

 drops may feel uneasy, he knows too much 

 about the Ides of March! Quietest of all 

 Northern woods creatures, the otter slides 

 from one ice-hung waterfall to the next. 

 The solitary scamperer left is the cotton- 

 tail, appealing because he is the most 

 pursued and politest of the furry; faith- 

 fully trying to give no offense, except when 

 starvation points to winter cabbage, he is 

 [ii] 



