THe Missing Cooth 
could I do but let them go—even into my own 
meadow? This has happened several times. 
When the drought dries the meadow, the voles 
come to the deep, walled spring at the upper end, 
apparently to drink. The water usually trickles over 
the curb, but in a long dry spell it shrinks a foot or 
more below the edge, and the voles, once within for 
their drink, cannot get out. Time and time again I 
had fished them up, until I thought to leave a board 
slanting down to the water, so that they could climb 
back to the top. 
It is stupid and careless to drown thus. The voles 
are blunderers. White-footed mice and house mice 
are abundant in the stumps and grass of the vicinity, 
but they never tumble into the spring. Still, I am 
partly responsible for the voles, for I walled up the 
spring and changed it into this trap. I owe them 
the drink and the plank, for certainly there are rights 
of mice, as well as of men, in this meadow of mine, 
where I do little but mow. But even if they have no 
rights, surely 
A daimen icker in a thrave 
*S a sma’ request 
for such of them as the foxes, cats, skunks, snakes, 
95 
