SNOW STORIES 41 



feet cannot find a footing on the naked iron. One 

 night they gnawed a ring of round holes through the 

 crown of a cherished felt hat belonging to a friend 

 of mine. The language he used when he looked at 

 that hat the next morning was unfit for the ears of 

 any young deer-mouse. Another time the deer-mice 

 carried off about a peck of expensive stuffing from a 

 white horse-hair mattress, which I had imported for 

 the personal repose of my aged frame. Although I 

 ransacked that cabin from turret to foundation- 

 stone I could never find a trace of that horse-hair. 

 In spite of their evil ways one cannot help liking 

 the little rascals. They have such bright, black eyes, 

 and wear such snowy, silky waistcoats and stockings. 

 The other evening I sat reading alone in my cabin 

 in the heart of the pine-barrens before a roaring fire. 

 Suddenly I felt something tickle my knee. When I 

 moved there was a sudden jump and a deer-mouse 

 sprang out from my trouser-leg to the floor. Then 

 I put a piece of bread on the edge of the wood-box. 

 Although I saw the bread disappear, I could catch no 

 glimpse of what took it. Finally I put a piece on my 

 shoe, and after running back and forth from the 

 wood-box several times, Mr. Mouse at last became 

 brave enough to take it. When he found that I did 

 not move, he sat up on my shoe like a little squirrel 

 and nibbled away at his crumb, watching me all the 

 time out of a corner of his black eyes. I forgave 

 him my friend's hat, and was almost ready to overlook 

 the horse-hair episode. When I moved, like a flash 

 he dashed up the wall by the fireplace, and hid 



