ver
gliding past has seen you. As he dives he gives the water a sharp blow
with his broad tail, the danger signal of the beavers, and a startling
one in the dead stillness. There is a sound as of a stick being
plunged end first into the water; a few eddies go running about the
pool, breaking up the moon's reflection; then silence again, and the
lap of ripples on the shore.

You can go home now; you will see nothing more to-night. There's a
beaver over under the other bank, in the shadow where you cannot see
him, just his eyes and ears above water, watching you. He will not
stir; nor will another beaver come out till you go away. As you find
your canoe and paddle back to camp, a ripple made by a beaver's nose
follows silently in the shadow of the alders. At the bend of the river
where you disappear, the ripple halts a while, like a projecting stub
in the current, then turns and goes swiftly back. There is another
splash; the builders come out again; a dozen ripples are scattering
star reflections all over the pool; while the little wood folk pause a
moment to look at the new works curiously, then go their ways, shy,
silent, industrious, through the wilderness night.

VII. CROW-WAYS.

[Illustration]

The crow is very much of a rascal--that is, if any creature can be
called a rascal for following out natural and rascally inclinations. I
first came to this conclusion one early morning, several years ago, as
I watched an old crow diligently exploring a fringe of bushes that
grew along the wall of a deserted pasture. He had eaten a clutch of
thrush's eggs, and carried off three young sparrows to feed his own
young, before I found out what he was about. Since then I have
surprised him often at the same depredations.

An old farmer has assured me that he has also caught him tormenting
his sheep, lighting on their backs and pulling the wool out by the
roots to get fleece for lining his nest. This is a much more serious
charge than that of pulling up corn, though the latter makes almost
every farmer his enemy.

Yet with all his rascality he has many curious and interesting ways.
In fact, I hardly know another bird that so well repays a season's
study; only one must be very patient, and put up with frequent
disappointments if he would learn much of a crow's peculiarities by
personal observation. How shy he is! How cunning and quick to learn
wisdom! Yet he is very easily fooled; and some experiences that ought
to t