ing carpet, hiding the sweet
three-cornered beechnuts upon which squirrels and raccoons waxed fat and
contented. The activities of the beavers continued until, one morning
after a clear cold night, when the stars seemed to twinkle immeasurably
far above the wilderness, a film of ice covered the surface of the pond.

Then, in a night, winter descended upon the forest. The ice grew thick
and solid. The domes of the lodges froze as hard as stone and only a
thin, almost imperceptible wisp of steam, arising from the ventilating
holes, gave indication of the life within. This was the beavers' season
of rest and they made the most of it. Snow covered land and water alike.
Icy gales swept over the wilderness, sending the inhabitants to cover
and lashing the great trees until it seemed as if they could not stand.
For most of the wilderness folk it was the hunger time, when game is
scarce and exceedingly wary.

For the beavers, however, it was a time of plenty. On their warm beds of
leaves under the frozen domes where never a cold breeze touched them,
they dreamed away the hours or, waking, nibbled a bit of aspen bark
thoughtfully provided on the floor of the lodge. The sticks were then
carried out and used in strengthening the dam. Occasionally a black,
whiskered face would appear beneath the ice where the snow had been
blown away, and stare out for a moment at the wintry world, but it would
be quickly withdrawn as the beaver returned to his comfortable lodge.

One day in midwinter, when the sun shone upon a world of sparkling
white, the Hermit, this time upon snowshoes, again visited the beaver
pond. The white domes of the lodges dotted the snowy surface but there
was no sign of life. The man stepped out upon the dam and hacked at it
with an axe which he had brought to provide himself with firewood. There
was no penetrating its stony surface, and, as he looked out across the
hard, rounded domes, he smiled to himself, picturing the beavers in
their snug retreats. He knew that beneath the ice was a fortune in
valuable furs, but the thought brought with it no desire for possession.
In the Hermit's opinion the skins were of far greater value to the
beavers than to himself.

Knowing that the forest folk, after having been storm-bound for days,
would now be driven abroad by hunger, the Hermit concealed himself in a
fir thicket not far from the pond and waited to see what of interest
chance would bring to him. He had waited scarcel