THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 187 
hillside after a sudden November snowstorm. My 
way led past two gray-squirrel nests, well thatched 
and chinked with the leaves by which they can 
always be told from crows’ nests. From one of them 
I saw peering down at me the funny face of a coon. 
When I pounded on the other tree, another coon 
stared sleepily down at me. Probably the unexpected 
snowstorm had sent them both to bed in the first 
lodgings which they could find; or it may be that 
they had decided to try the open-air sleeping-rooms 
of the squirrels rather than the hollow-tree houses in 
which the coon family usually spend their winters. 
‘Sometimes at night you may hear near the edge of 
the woods a plaintive, tremulous call floating from 
out of the dark trees— “‘Whoo-00-00-00, whoo-oo- 
00-00.”’ It is one of the night-notes of the coon. It 
sounds almost like the wail of the little screech-owl, 
save that there is a certain animal quality to the 
note. Moreover, the screech-owl will always answer, 
when one imitates the call, and will generally come 
floating over on noiseless wings to investigate. 
The coon, however, instantly detects the imitation 
and calls no more that night. 
Unlike the bears, Mr. and Mrs. Coon and all the 
little coons, averaging from three to six, hibernate 
together soon after the first snowstorm of the year. 
One of the few legends of the long-lost Connecticut 
Indians which I can remember is that of an old 
Indian hunter, who would appear on my great- 
grandfather’s farm in the depths of winter and, 
after obtaining permission, would go unerringly to 
