54 WINTER SUNSHINE 



be partially housed from the cold and the snow, but 

 where also — and this consideration undoubtedly 

 determines his choice — he would be more apt to 

 fall a prey to his enemies. In this, as well as in 

 many other respects, he differs from the rabbit 

 proper: he never burrows in the ground, or takes 

 refuge in a den or hole, when pursued. If caught 

 in the open fields, he is much confused and easily 

 overtaken by the dog; but in the woods, he leaves 

 him at a bound. In summer, when first disturbed, 

 he beats the ground violently with his feet, by 

 which means he would express to you his surprise 

 or displeasure ; it is a dumb way he has of scolding. 

 After leaping a few yards, he pauses an instant, as 

 if to determine the degree of danger, and then hur- 

 ries away with a much lighter tread. 



His feet are like great pads, and his track has 

 little of the sharp, articulated expression of Key- 

 nard's, or of animals that climb or dig. Yet it is 

 very pretty like all the rest, and tells its own tale. 

 There is nothing bold or vicious or vulpine in it, 

 and his timid, harmless character is published at 

 every leap. He abounds in dense woods, preferring 

 localities filled with a small undergrowth of beech 

 and birch, upon the bark of which he feeds. Nature 

 is rather partial to him, and matches his extreme 

 local habits and character with a suit that corre- 

 sponds with his surroundings, — reddish gray in 

 summer and white in winter. 



The sharp-rayed track of the partridge adds an- 

 other figure to this fantastic embroidery upon the 



