A LONELY LAKE. 
33 
At the northeastern corner of the lake there 
is a grove of oaks, the largest of which doubt¬ 
less stood there before this part of New England 
was settled by white men. Squirrels hold this 
grove as frisky tenants-in-common with wood¬ 
chucks and raccoons; a family of porcupines 
having a right of way across it by virtue of un¬ 
opposed use running back till the memory of 
rodents knoweth nothing to the contrary. I 
have never been so fortunate as to find ’coons in 
the grove, although some of my household have 
found them, but I have seen their footprints in 
the April snow. They are strange footprints, 
which one can never mistake for any other. If 
the dearest, plumpest baby in New England 
patted the soft snow with its dimpled hands, it 
could not make daintier images of its little 
palms than this wild creature of the forest 
makes with its feet, as it hurries over the new- 
fallen snow. The most conspicuous squirrels 
by the pond are the great bushy-tailed grays; 
the most retiring are the refined little flying- 
squirrels, which live in a deserted woodpecker’s 
hole in a dead tree. The grays climb after 
acorns to the highest limbs and branchlets of 
the oaks, frequently breaking off leafy twigs, 
and dropping acorns to the ground. Below, 
watching for and improving their opportunities, 
are striped chipmunks, which gather up a por- 
