THe Lay of the Zand 
migrate, for he is what the naturalists call a “ winter 
resident.” It is not in his nature to fly away nor to go 
to sleep, but, like the red squirrel and the muskrat, 
to prepare to live up all the winter. So his original, 
unperverted animal instinct leads him to store. 
Long ago he buried his provisions in pits and hung 
them up on poles. Even his vocabulary he gathered 
together as his word-hoard. He is still possessed of 
the remnant of the instinct ; he will still store. Cage 
him in a city, give him more than he needs for winter, 
relieve him of all possibility of want, and yet he will 
store. You cannot cage an instinct nor eradicate it. 
It will be obeyed, if all that can be found in the way 
of pit and pole be a grated vault in the deep recesses 
of some city bank. 
Cage a red squirrel and he will store in the cage; 
so will the white-footed mouse. Give the mouse more 
than he can use, put him in a cellar, where there is 
enough already stored for a city of mice, and he will 
take from your piles and make piles of his own. He 
must store or be unhappy and undone. 
A white-footed mouse got into my cellar last winter 
and found it, like the cellar of the country mouse in 
the fable, — 
40 
