THE SNOW-WALKERS 



the tree in which the coon has taken refuge. Then 

 follows a pellmell rush of the cooning party up the 

 hill, into the woods, through the brush and the 

 darkness, falling over prostrate trees, pitching into 

 gullies and hollows, losing hats and tearing clothes, 

 till finally, guided by the baying of the faithful dog, 

 the tree is reached. The first thing now in order 

 is to kindle a fire, and, if its light reveals the coon, 

 to shoot him ; if not, to fell the tree with an axe. If 

 this happens to be too great a sacrifice of timber 

 and of strength, to sit down at the foot of the tree 

 till morning. 



But with March our interest in these phases of 

 animal life, which winter has so emphasized and 

 brought out, begins to decline. Vague rumors are 

 afloat in the air of a great and coming change. We 

 are eager for Winter to be gone, since he, too, is 

 fugitive and cannot keep his place. Invisible hands 

 deface his icy statuary; his chisel has lost its cun- 

 ning. The drifts, so pure and exquisite, are now 

 earth-stained and weather-worn, the flutes and 

 scallops, and fine, firm lines, all gone; and what 

 was a grace and an ornament to the hills is now a 

 disfiguration. Like worn and unwashed linen ap- 

 pear the remains of that spotless robe with which 

 he clothed the world as his bride. 



But he will not abdicate without a struggle. Day 

 after day he rallies his scattered forces, and night 

 after night pitches his white tents on the hills, and 

 29 



