IN THE CANADIAN WOODS. 147 



packed snow, the fall of a dry pine cone, or the cracking 

 of the frost-bound bark of some distant forest tree, alone 

 breaks the silence. Is there no sound or sight of living 

 thing ? Yes ; see those tiny marks upon the surface of 

 the snow — footprints so small that but for the long line 

 reaching from tree to tree they would escape the quick- 

 est sight. Some living thing has been here. It is the 

 tiniest of all quadrupeds, the little "jumping mouse," or 

 zerboa. A brave little animal, fearless of cold and frozen 

 snow, it has ventured from its domicile in search of food. 

 It would not come out just for play in the cold moon- 

 light. One cannot suspect the fairy creature of any such 

 motive ; but motive it must have, and it keeps it to itself. 

 Well is it if no midnight owl or the white arctic hawk 

 which is sometimes seen in the dense forest does not 

 pounce upon its defenceless head and bear it off as a 

 prize. I have seen these pretty little mice in the sum- 

 mer, and admired their agile, skipping ways ; but in the 

 winter, though seeing many a track of their fairy feet 

 on the snow, I have never observed the little creatures 

 themselves. 



In an old diary I have notes, written years ago, of 

 sleigh drives in a rude vehicle, when, wrapped in buffalo 

 and bear skins, lying at ease with my little ones cuddled 

 up fro in the keen wintry cold, we made many a moon- 

 light visit to some friend. What a merry, noisy party 

 we were, singing and laughing and chattering as we 



