THE HEDGEHOG 



accumulate until the autumn, when its weight 

 will have increased by as much as a pound 

 (one and a half pounds is about the average 

 early summer weight), so that it is at the 

 beginning of the winter nearly twice as heavy 

 as in the spring. With this reserve in hand 

 the hedgehog prepares its winter nest, carrying 

 into the hole extra grass and leaves, and getting 

 ready to face happily the very hardest weather. 

 As soon as its food gets short, when the 

 nights have become cold and chilly, few or no 

 insects being abroad on the frosty grass, it 

 drops its nose between its paws— having first 

 drawn the bedding around it — curls up, and 

 sleeps soundly for weeks on end. A warm 

 day or two will wake it and bring it out to see 

 what can be found, but as the late autumn 

 merges into winter its sleep becomes sounder 

 and sounder, it has become cold and lifeless, 

 and so the time passes by until the warm spring 

 comes, sending the life coursing through its 

 veins again, and waking it up, to come forth 

 lean and thin, all its plumpness gone, to search 

 for food once more. 



There is one most curious thing about the 

 winter sleep of the hedgehog, and that is the 

 change which takes place in its blood. In 



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