THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 187 



hillside after a sudden November snowstorm. My 

 way led past two gray-squirrel nests, well thatched 

 and chinked with the leaves by which they can 

 always be told from crows' nests. From one of them 

 I saw peering down at me the funny face of a coon. 

 When I pounded on the other tree, another coon 

 stared sleepily down at me. Probably the unexpected 

 snowstorm had sent them both to bed in the first 

 lodgings which they could find; or it may be that 

 they had decided to try the open-air sleeping-rooms 

 of the squirrels rather than the hollow-tree houses in 

 which the coon family usually spend their winters. 



Sometimes at night you may hear near the edge of 

 the woods a plaintive, tremulous call floating from 

 out of the dark trees — "Whoo-oo-oo-oo, whoo-oo- 

 oo-oo. " It is one of the night-notes of the coon. It 

 sounds almost like the wail of the little screech-owl, 

 save that there is a certain animal quality to the 

 note. Moreover, the screech-owl will always answer, 

 when one imitates the call, and will generally come 

 floating over on noiseless wings to investigate. 

 The coon, however, instantly detects the imitation 

 and calls no more that night. 



Unlike the bears, Mr. and Mrs. Coon and all the 

 little coons, averaging from three to six, hibernate 

 together soon after the first snowstorm of the year. 

 One of the few legends of the long-lost Connecticut 

 Indians which I can remember is that of an old 

 Indian hunter, who would appear on my great- 

 grandfather's farm in the depths of winter and, 

 after obtaining permission, would go unerringly to 



