packed behind not only stopped the leak but gave a guarantee that in
future that corner at least would be safe.

When Caleb heard of the Muskrat mischief he said:

"Now ye know why the Beavers are always so dead sore on the Muskrats.
They know the Rats are liable to spoil their dams any time, so they
kill them whenever they get the chance."

Little Beaver rarely watched an hour without seeing something of
interest in the swamp. The other warriors had not the patience to wait
so long and they were not able to make a pastime of sketching.

Yan made several hiding-places where he found that living things were
most likely to be seen. Just below the dam was a little pool where
various Crawfish and thread-like Eels abounding proved very attractive
to Kingfisher and Crow, while little Tip-ups or Teetering Snipe would
wiggle their latter end on the level dam, or late in the day the
never-failing Muskrat would crawl out on a flat stone and sit like
a fur cap. The canon part of the creek was another successful
hiding-place, but the very best was at the upper end of the pond, for
the simple reason that it gave a view of more different kinds of land.
First the water with Muskrats and occasionally a Mink, next the little
marsh, always there, but greatly increased now by the back-up of the
water. Here one or two Field-mice and a pair of Sora Rails were at
home. Close at hand was the thick woods, where Partridges and Black
Squirrels were sometimes seen.

Yan was here one day sketching the trunk of a Hemlock to pass the
watching time, but also because he had learned to love that old tree.
He never sketched because he loved sketching; he did not; the motive
always was love of the thing he was drawing.

A Black-and-white Creeper had crawled like a Lizard over all the
trunks in sight. A Downy Woodpecker had digged a worm out of a log by
labour that most birds would have thought ill-paid by a dozen such
worms. A Chipmunk had come nearer and nearer till it had actually run
over his foot and then scurried away chattering in dismay at its
own rashness; finally, a preposterous little Cock Chickadee sang
"_Spring soon_--_spring soon_," as though any one were interested in
the gratuitous and unconvincing fib, when a brown, furry form hopped
noiselessly from the green leaves by the pond, skipped over a narrow
bay without wetting its feet, paused once or twice, then in the middle
of the open glade it sat up in plain view--a Rabbit. It sat