ONE autumn I watched a beaver colony and 

 observed the customs of its primitive inhab- 

 itants as they gathered their harvest for win- 

 ter. It was the Spruce Tree Colony, the most 

 attractive of the sixteen beaver municipalities 

 on the big moraine on the slope of Long's 

 Peak. 



The first evening I concealed myself close to 

 the beaver house by the edge of the pond. Just 

 at sunset a large, aged beaver of striking, patri- 

 archal appearance rose in the water by the house, 

 and swam slowly, silently round the pond. He 

 kept close to the shore and appeared to be scout- 

 ing to see if an enemy lurked near. On com- 

 pleting the circuit of the pond, he climbed upon 

 the end of a log that was thrust a few feet out 

 into the water. Presently several other beaver 

 appeared in the water close to the house. A few 

 of these at once left the pond and nosed quietly 

 about on the shore. The others swam about for 



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