84 Winter-green 



the former, for the poor thing trembled, and 

 when I set it down it ran, not into its house, 

 but to a prostrate log, and disappeared under 

 dead leaves. I certainly had not gained its 

 confidence, and when I come this way again 

 it will not be caught napping. No matter 

 how gently I move, it will never believe I 

 did not intend it harm. Its first impressions, 

 like our own, are stamped with indelible ink 

 that will shine through the varnish of all 

 subsequent experiences. Perhaps I dulled 

 the winter-green for the day of that one 

 mouse, but I had brightened my own. No 

 incident, however trifling, should be lost 

 upon us, and my pulses were thrilled with a 

 healthier joy than the hunter had experi- 

 enced, who had passed me by, laden with 

 furs from his traps. The recent flood had 

 worked destruction to the muskrats, and not 

 a mink or raccoon or opossum but had fled 

 from the drowned meadows. They were 

 hiding in these woods, so the trapper told 

 me, but I had not seen them. Not one of 

 them but is more cunning than a mouse, but 

 I do not know that they could have taught 

 me any more had I met them in my path. 

 They have not greater significance because 



