THE BEECH WOODS 



down the frozen water-courses, would 

 find no easy entry into this home. Kor 

 would his malignant little eyes find the 

 home of the woodmice in the roots of 

 the elm stub. The weasel, now wearing 

 his ermine coat of white, with a black 

 tip at the end of the tail, might also 

 pass in his nervous, searching way, 

 countless nests of field mice under the 

 snow. 



The partridges had selected the pro- 

 tection of the tamaracks for their 

 roosting-place, and through the stormy 

 nights they sat close beside the body 

 of the trees, the thick, overhanging 

 branches shielding them from the cold 

 and storm. Although the carpet of 

 snow covered their main food supply, 

 they found plenty to eat, often visiting 

 the birch trees growing in the thickets, 

 for they liked the sweet buds. This 

 morning they waited long before ven- 

 turing out into the new world of Win- 

 ter, but eventually, one by one, they 

 came booming down the silent ways, 

 touching a burdened branch or fan- 

 ning the russet leaf-cups of the young 

 beeches, and loosing a thousand fluffy 

 88 



