gS Ways of Wood Folk. 



to break their dam half a dozen times, and freeze as 

 often, before you see it repaired. 



It is a most interesting sight when it comes at last, 

 and well repays the watching. The water is pouring 

 through a five-foot break in the dam ; the roof of a 

 house is in ruins. You have rubbed yourself all over 

 with fir boughs, to destroy some of the scent in your 

 clothes, and hidden yourself in the top of a fallen 

 tree. The twilight goes ; the moon wheels over the 

 eastern spruces, flooding the river with silver light. 

 Still no sign of life. You are beginning to think of 

 another disappointment; to think your toes cannot 

 stand the cold another minute without stamping, 

 which would spoil everything, when a ripple shoots 

 swiftly across the pool, and a big beaver comes out 

 on the bank. He sits up a moment, looking, listen- 

 ing ; then goes to the broken house and sits up again, 

 looking it all over, estimating damages, making plans. 

 There is a commotion in the water ; three others 

 join him — you are warm now. 



Meanwhile three or four more are swimming about 

 the dam, surveying the damage there. One dives to 

 the bottom, but comes up in a moment to report all 

 safe below. Another is tugging at a thick pole just 

 below you. Slowly he tows it out in front, balances 

 a moment and lets it go — good! — squarely across 

 the break. Two others are cutting alders above ; 



