SNUGGING-DOWN DAYS 



quarters that are dry and snug. Here 

 they are as secure from frost as was the 

 white grub that I hewed from his pith 

 hall in the goldenrod stem. When the ice 

 is thick all about, their house will be as 

 hard of outside wall as if built of black 

 adamant yet their water-entrance will 

 be free, beneath the ice, and they will 

 go to and fro by it, seeking supplies or 

 perhaps making friendly calls. 



All the morning the marsh grass bil- 

 lowed and the water sparkled, one to an- 

 other, about their houses, and if you lis- 

 tened to the grass you might hear its 

 fine little sibilant song, a soft susurrus of 

 words whose only consonant is s, set to 

 a sleepy swing. It is a song that seems 

 to harmonize with the fine tan tones of 

 the bog as they fade into silvery white 

 where the sun reflects from smooth 

 spears. Over on the distant hillside the 



