How Animals Talk 



the wary old doe, or the fledgling snipe as it leaves 

 the nest under expert guidance, or the wonder-eyed 

 cub coming forth from its den at the call of the 

 gaunt old she-wolf. In each case I see a mother 

 intelligently caring for her young, leading them to 

 food, warding them from danger, calling them now 

 to assemble or now to scatter; and before my eyes 

 these ignorant youngsters quickly learn to adapt 

 themselves to the mother's ways and to obey her 

 every signal. Sometimes I see them plainly when 

 some manner of silent communication passes 

 among them (something perhaps akin to that 

 which passes when you catch a friend's eye and 

 send your thought or order to him across a crowded 

 room), and it has even seemed to me, as recorded 

 elsewhere in our observation of wolf and fox dens, 

 that the young understand this silent communica- 

 tion more readily than they learn the meaning of 

 audible cries expressive of food or danger. 



Such is the wild creature's earliest experience, 

 his training to accommodate himself to the world, 

 and to ways that wiser creatures of his own kind 

 have found good in the world. When his first 

 winter draws near he is led by his mother to join 

 the herd or pack or migrating flock; and he is 

 then ready not for some mysterious new herd or 

 flock instinct, but for the same old signals that 

 have served well to guide or warn him ever since 



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