THe Mature Movement 
kittens of the cracker box was an extraordinary kitten 
of “pronounced color,’ who survives and comes to 
glory. The next book tells the biography of a fox, 
born in a hole among the Canadian hills. Among 
the pups born in this hole was one extraordinary pup 
“more finely colored” than the others, who survives 
and comes to glory. The third book tells the bio- 
graphy of a wolf, born in a cave among the rocks, 
still farther north. Among the cubs born in this cave 
was one extraordinary cub, “larger than the others,” 
who survives and, as is to be expected of a wolf, 
comes to more glory than the cracker-box kitten or 
the fox pup of the hills. 
Such are the stories that are made into texts and 
readers for our public schools; such are the animals 
that go roaming through the woods of the American 
child’s imagination. But no such kittens or cubs or 
pups lurk in my eight-acre woodlot. I have seen sev- 
eral (six, to be exact) fox pups, but never did I see 
this overworked, extraordinary, cum laude pup of the 
recent nature books. 
So long as we continue to read and believe such 
accounts, just so long shall we find it impossible to 
go with Audubon and Thoreau and Burroughs, for 
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