SNOW STORIES 41 
feet cannot find a footing on the naked iron. One 
night they gnawed a ring of round holes through the 
crown of a cherished felt hat belonging to a friend 
of mine. The language he used when he looked at 
that hat the next morning was unfit for the ears of 
any young deer-mouse. Another time the deer-mice 
carried off about a peck of expensive stuffing from a 
white horse-hair mattress, which I had imported for 
the personal repose of my aged frame. Although I 
ransacked that cabin from turret to foundation- 
stone I could never find a trace of that horse-hair. 
In spite of their evil ways one cannot help liking 
the little rascals. They have such bright, black eyes, 
and wear such snowy, silky waistcoats and stockings. 
The other evening I sat reading alone in my cabin 
in the heart of the pine-barrens before a roaring fire. 
Suddenly I felt something tickle my knee. When I 
moved there was a sudden jump and a deer-mouse 
sprang out from my trouser-leg to the floor. Then 
I put a piece of bread on the edge of the wood-box. 
Although I saw the bread disappear, I could catch no 
glimpse of what took it. Finally I put a piece on my 
shoe, and after running back and forth from the 
wood-box several times, Mr. Mouse at last became 
brave enough to take it. When he found that I did 
not move, he sat up on my shoe like a little squirrel 
and nibbled away at his crumb, watching me all the 
time out of a corner of his black eyes. I forgave 
him my friend’s hat, and was almost ready to overlook 
the horse-hair episode. When I moved, like a flash 
he dashed up the wall by the fireplace, and hid 
