LEAVES FROM MY SKETCH BOOK 



By DAN BEARD 



N the early fall, when the 

 white-throated sparrow is 

 heard in the coppice and 

 the winds have begun to 

 strip the leaves . from the 

 trees, when the first frost 

 has browned the tips of 

 the grass, the thickets in 

 the swamp are gray and 

 the empty nest of the 

 blackbird, robin, thrush 

 and chippy are plainly dis- 

 cernible as dark objects against the 

 leaden sky, this is the time to hunt for 

 the American white-footed mice, and 

 the place to hunt for them is in these 

 apparently empty birds' nests. 



In some sections of the country it 

 will be found that every birds' nest that 

 is near the ground is filled with the 

 down stolen from the cat-tail in the 

 neighboring swamp or the dry lichens 

 or moss, gathered from the bark and 

 roots of the trees, and your curiosity 

 will be aroused and you will wonder 

 what accident filled all these birds' 

 nests ; but, when you attempt to investi- 

 gate more closely and by chance touch 

 the branch upon which the nest rests, 

 you will probably be surprised to see 

 a little brown animal pop out of the 

 nest, run up on the end of the branch 

 and sit there looking at you with his 

 little beady eyes as if he were inquiring 

 why you interrupted his slumbers. 

 Should you care to venture through the 

 cat-briers and are not deterred by fear 

 of the poisonous sap of the white su- 

 mac, you may be rewarded by seeing 

 many of these nimble-footed, bright- 

 eyed little tenants of last year's birds' 

 nests, as they leap from their cosy 

 quarters, alarmed by the rude swaying 

 of the branches upon which their hang- 

 ing home rests. If you are a true 

 woodsman, and know how to assume a 



pose in which you can keep perfectly 

 quiet and still for a long time, you will 

 sec little white-footed mice run back to 

 their homes, where they may be easily 

 captured by placing your handkerchief 

 over the nest and taking the house and 

 tenants together. 



It sometimes happens that some 

 mouse is more ambitious and more in- 

 genious than the rest of his kind; in 

 the Borough of Queens I found a nest, 

 shown in the corner of the accompany- 

 ing leaf from my sketch book, which 

 had been roofed over with a thatch of 

 rushes and a door made in one side for 

 an entrance and exit of the little squat- 

 ter. This nest is in the National Mu- 

 seum at Washington, where I sent it 

 some years ago, and, as far as I know, 

 is unique. Usually the little rodents 

 are satisfied with covering themselves 

 with a warm heap of cat-tail down, 

 moss or the finely shredded inner bark 

 of the cedar trees ; in this warm ma- 

 terial they sleep during the daytime and 

 occupy their homes until the first snow 

 comes. 



Like their cousins, the flying squir- 

 rels, these little mice can not stand wet 

 and cold, and, after a driving rain, they 

 are not infrequently found dead upon 

 the ground. Consequently, when the 

 damp snow covers the top of their ne^,: 

 and the sun begins to melt the snow, 

 the mice crawl out and make their win- 

 ter homes under the roots of trees, the 

 stone walls, and even in the walls of 

 the muskrat's house on the frozen pond. 



The white-footed mouse makes a 

 very entertaining pet, is easily tamed, 

 and will breed in captivity; and, as 

 they are nocturnal, they are well adap- 

 ted for house pets, inasmuch as when 

 you are away at business or school they 

 are quietly sleeping; but, when you 

 come home in the evening, they are up 

 and doing and full of amusing pranks. 



507 



