172 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER . 
whistling, blowing out long jets of white smoke 
and slender tongues of flame, its voice and 
warmth have carried me back in spirit to the 
brown beds of fern, the busy chipmunks under 
the old oak in the wall, or to the mayflowers 
gathered in spring from the edges of the linger¬ 
ing snow-banks. I passed a ledge of rocks on 
which I had seen a woodchuck sunning himself 
last August, and I recalled how he had squeezed 
himself into a little cave in the ledge only to 
find me peering in after him, and quite able to 
reach him with a stick. His method of escape 
from me was characteristic. Grunting and 
snarling, he spent half his time in threatening 
to come out and attack me, and the other half 
in undermining himself and poking the earth 
with his nose into the hole through which I 
was looking. In five minutes he had completely 
covered the opening and sunk his plump body 
out of reach of my probe. Later in the season 
I had a young woodchuck which had been partly 
tamed escape from captivity by gnawing his 
way through a thick pine board. The same 
individual repeatedly climbed up six feet from 
the floor on the coarse wire netting which formed 
the front of his cage, so that in future I shall 
not think it strange if I see a woodchuck climb 
a tree. His eccentricity also carried him to 
the point of devouring nearly a third of the 
