WILDWOOD WAYS 



and butter are squeaking about their 

 usual business in pearly tunnels where 

 he may not reach them. The woodchucks 

 are tucked away for the winter, the 

 skunks are dozing fitfully on short ra- 

 tions, hungry but inert, and even Brer 

 Rabbit does not venture out of his hole 

 for days at a time when his enemies, 

 winter and rough weather, are upon him. 

 Yet if the furred and feathered people 

 of pasture and woodland have no occa- 

 sion to love the snow it is far different 

 with the trees and shrubs and tender 

 plants of the out-door world. These have 

 yearned for it with love and a faith that 

 has rarely lacked fulfilment. They talked 

 about it incessantly, each in the voice of 

 its kind, the big forest oaks with the 

 cheery rustle of sturdy burghers, the little 

 scrub oaks with the tittle-tattle of small- 

 natured folk. Let the wind blow north or 



