LITTLE BEASTS OF FIELD AND WOOD 



in summer, any bush or broad-leaved herb serves 

 to protect them from the sun. Almost every- 

 where, too, there are plenty of holes in the earth, 

 or the decaying trunks of trees, where they can 

 find shelter and where neither of the extremes of 

 heat or cold can ever penetrate. 



I should say that by far the greater part of 

 their discomfort is caused by drought and exces- 

 sive rainfall or the sudden melting of snow. 

 There are few sights more pathetic than that of 

 some little animal whose fur was never meant 

 to shed water for any length of time, swimming 

 painfully about among rattling ice-cakes and 

 sodden snow, with no more cheering prospect 

 before it in the immediate future than that of 

 climbing out into the still colder atmosphere, or 

 squeezing itself away all wet in the damp interior 

 of a floating log. The sudden overwhelming 

 of a thunderstorm in summer, when undoubtedly 

 many of them perish, seems desirable by contrast. 



Snow by itself is unquestionably a protection 



