winter brings the beaver like a
flash--will trouble his wise little head for a moment.

All the long summer he belongs to the tribe of Ishmael, wandering
through lakes and streams wherever fancy leads him. It is as if he
were bound to see the world after being cooped up in his narrow
quarters all winter. Even the strong family ties, one of the most
characteristic and interesting things in beaver life, are for the time
loosened. Every family group when it breaks up housekeeping in the
spring represents five generations. First, there are the two old
beavers, heads of the family and absolute rulers, who first engineered
the big dam and houses, and have directed repairs for nobody knows how
long. Next in importance are the baby beavers, no bigger than
musquashes, with fur like silk velvet, and eyes always wide open at
the wonders of the first season out; then the one-and two-year-olds,
frisky as boys let loose from school, always in mischief and having to
be looked after, and occasionally nipped; then the three-year-olds,
who presently leave the group and go their separate happy ways in
search of mates. So the long days go by in a kind of careless summer
excursion; and when one sometimes finds their camping ground in his
own summer roving through the wilderness, he looks upon it with
curious sympathy. Fellow campers are they, pitching their tents by
sunny lakes and alder-fringed, trout-haunted brooks, always close to
Nature's heart, and loving the wild, free life much as he does
himself.

But when the days grow short and chill, and the twitter of warblers
gives place to the _honk_ of passing geese, and wild ducks gather in
the lakes, then the heart of the beaver goes back to his home; and
presently he follows his heart. September finds them gathered about
the old dam again, the older heads filled with plans of repair and new
houses and winter food and many other things. The grown-up males have
brought their mates back to the old home; the females have found their
places in other family groups. It is then that the beaver begins to be
busy.

His first concern is for a stout dam across the stream that will give
him a good-sized pond and plenty of deep water. To understand this,
one must remember that the beaver intends to shut himself in a kind of
prison all winter. He knows well that he is not safe on land a moment
after the snow falls; that some prowling lucivee or wolverine would
find his tracks and follow him, and tha