58 THE SNOW-WALKERS 



sometimes taking up his quarters for the season un- 

 der the haymow. There is no such word as hurry- 

 in his dictionary, as you may see by his path upon 

 the snow. He has a very sneaking, insinuating 

 way, and goes creeping about the fields and woods, 

 never once in a perceptible degree altering his gait, 

 and, if a fence crosses his course, steers for a break 

 or opening to avoid climbing. He is too indolent 

 even to dig his own hole, but appropriates that of 

 a woodchuck, or hunts out a crevice in the rocks, 

 from which he extends his rambling in all direc- 

 tions, preferring damp, thawy weather. He has 

 very little discretion or cunning, and holds a trap 

 in utter contempt, stepping into it as soon as beside 

 it, relying implicitly for defense against all forms of 

 danger upon the unsavory punishment he is capable 

 of inflicting. He is quite indifferent to both man 

 and beast, and will not hurry himself to get out of 

 the way of either. Walking through the summer 

 fields at twilight, I have come near stepping upon 

 him, and was much the more disturbed of the two. 

 When attacked in the open fields he confounds the 

 plans of his enemies by the unheard-of tactics of 

 exposing his rear rather than his front. "Come if 

 you dare," he says, and his attitude makes even 

 the farm-dog pause. After a few encounters of 

 this kind, and if you entertain the usual hostility 

 towards him, your mode of attack will speedily re- 

 solve itself into moving about him in a circle, the 



