left shivering outside as truly as if they had all been human beings.

Such a spring, with its destruction of seed-bearing and nut-hearing
vegetation, followed by a winter that seals under ice what may have
been produced, has spread starvation among the wild creatures. A
recent Sunday afternoon walk in the woods--Georgiana being away from
home with her mother--showed me that part of the earth's surface rolled
out as a vast white chart, on which were traced the desperate travels
of the snow-walkers in search of food. Squirrel, chipmunk, rabbit,
weasel, mouse, mink, fox--their tracks crossed and recrossed, wound in
and out and round and round, making an intricate lace-work beautiful
and pitiful to behold. Crow prints ringed every corn-shock in the
field. At the base of one I picked up a frozen dove--starved at the
brink of plenty. Rabbit tracks grew thickest as I entered my turnip
and cabbage patches, converging towards my house, and coming to a focus
at a group of snow-covered pyramids, in which last autumn, as usual, I
buried my vegetables. I told Georgiana:

"They are attracted by the leaves that Dilsy throws away when she gets
out what we need. Think of it--a whole neighborhood of rabbits
hurrying here after dark for the chance of a bare nibble at a possible
leaf." Once that night I turned in bed, restless. Georgiana did the
same.

"Are you awake?" she said, softly.

"Are you?"

"Are you thinking about the rabbits?"