ardent lovers as the birds, and infinitely more 

 serious. But they are not poets ; they are not 

 in the show business ; and they want no out- 

 sider to come and listen to their pretty story of 

 woe. Their spring, their courting-time, is not a 

 time of song and play. The love-affairs of a 

 timid, soulful-eyed rabbit are so charged and in- 

 tense as not always to be free from tragedy. 

 Don't expect any attention in the spring, even 

 from that bunch of consuming curiosity, the red 

 squirrel ; he has something in hand, for once, 

 more to his mind than quizzing you. Life with 

 the animals then, and through the summer, has 

 too much of love and fight and fury, is too 

 terribly earnest, to admit of any frolic. 



But autumn brings release from most of these 

 struggles. There is surcease of love ; there is 

 abundance of food ; and now the only passions 

 of the furry breasts are such gentle desires as 

 abide with the curious and the lovers of peace 

 and plenty. The animals are now engrossed 

 with the task of growing fat and furry. 

 Troubled with no higher ambitions, curiosity, 

 sociability, and a thirst for adventure begin to 

 work within them these long autumn nights, 

 [99] 



