184 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



At last, we beached our canoe in a little grove and 

 landed for lunch. By the edge of the smoky, golden 

 cedar-water, in the pure white sand, was a deep 

 footprint, like that made by a baby 's bare foot with 

 a pointed heel. I recognized the hand and seal of 

 Lotor, the Washer, who believes firmly in that old 

 proverb about cleanliness. That is about as near, 

 however, as Lotor ever gets to godliness. He is the 

 grizzled-gray raccoon, who wears a black mask on 

 his funny, foxy face, and has a ringed tail shaped like 

 a baton, and sets his hind feet flat, like his second- 

 cousin the bear, while his menu-card covers almost as 

 wide a range. Whatever he eats — frogs, crawfish, 

 chicken, and even fresh eggs and snakes — he always 

 washes. Two, three, and even four times, he rinses 

 and rubs his food if he can find water. 



That footprint in the sand carried me back more 

 years than I like to count. It was on the same kind 

 of fall day that I first entered the fastnesses of Rolf e 's 

 Woods. First there came Little Woods, close at 

 home, where one could play after school, and where 

 the spotted leaves of the adder 's-tongue grew every- 

 where. Then came Big Woods, which required a 

 full Saturday afternoon to do it justice. It was there 

 that I accumulated by degrees the twenty-two 

 spotted turtles, the five young gray squirrels, and the 

 three garter-snakes, which gladdened my home. 



Far beyond Big Woods was a wilderness of swamps 

 and thickets known to us as Rolfe 's Woods. This was 

 only to be visited in company with some of the big 

 boys and on a full holiday. That day, Boots Lock- 



