12 DAYS OUT. dF BOORS. 



retired they returned and reconstructed their nest in the 

 same spot. From underneath I could hear the patter of 

 their husy feet and the rustling of the scattered papers, 

 but not a squeak or sound of any kind ; and from that 

 day until late in April they continued to sleep and sing — 

 active and noisy when the nights were warm, and still as 

 death during the winter, whenever the mercury sank low. 

 But their noise at night was not a vocal one, the singing 

 I have mentioned being wholly a diurnal phenomenon. 

 During the day, when the squirrels were evidently not 

 moving about, they appeared to rouse from their slumbers 

 and sing, one after the other, and then relapse into 

 silence. 



But enough of indoor outings, even in January. 

 While it is not so suggestive a month as most of the 

 others, it is not without certain features that are ever wel- 

 come to the rambler ; and one feels more content with 

 extremely cold weather at this time than if it comes ear- 

 lier or later. The fact is, the season is but ten days old 

 at New Year's, and speculation is curiously active as to the 

 weather that is to be. No two of my neighbors agree, 

 each " goin' by a sure sign," and, of course, a different 

 one. All prove wrong, yet each swears the next spring, 

 he " hit it exactly." 



As evidence that I am not misrepresenting rural 

 humanity, let us consider for a moment the view taken by 

 many of my neighbors of the ever-expected but really un- 

 certain, if not mythical, January thaw. Our winters, as 

 we well know, are budgets of meteorological uncertainties. 

 While I write I am listening to warbling bluebirds, and 

 there are yet green leaves peeping above the sered sod of 

 the meadows ; and beyond, a long train of laden coal-cars 

 is passing by, each car with its freight of dusky diamonds 

 capped with a deep covering of glistening snow. The 

 many warm showers that v/e have had of late have been 



