WINTER. 



141 



fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our aquarium. Now it is shrunken 

 and cold with crackling ice. Around its borders a thicket of black 

 alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet berries, half hid in summer by the 

 overhanging foliage, now seen in all their brilliancy and profusion, the 

 brightest touches of color in nature's winter landscape. 



Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine 

 grove's sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the 

 sighing wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the 

 delicious invigorating aroma of the trees. 



Once more out in the open, our attention is 

 arrested by a little stain of blood upon the snow. 



"% SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 



IN THE WOODS. 



Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny 

 imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white sur- 

 face in close vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel 

 tragedy has been committed here, and its evidence is plain, for there is 

 but one line of wee footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near 

 by — no return. Poor little fellow ! I wish I had beneath my foot the 

 sharp-eyed owl that surprised you in your little antics on the snow. 



