granary under a log.

There goes a squirrel, angling away from you, his red bushy tail high
in the air as he runs through the deep snow down the side of the ridge
to a big, corky-barked oak, up which he goes to wait in his hollow up
there until you have passed by. He did not seem to be going very fast
but when you walk over to his tracks you find they are farther apart
than you can step. The groups of four are about as broad as your
hand, and they are deep where the snow lies thick. But on the firmer
snow at the crest of the ridge, before the squirrel became alarmed,
they did not break through the crust, and the marks of the dainty toes
are plainly seen. There are also the remains of a sweet acorn which
the squirrel dug out of the deep snow under a white oak. Back to the
river where the stream from the spring makes open water you find some
queer tracks on the fresh snow; there is a round spot as big as a
quarter in each one, faint radiating lines in front ending with the
marks of sharp toes; these were made by the soft-padded foot and
webbed toes of the mink.

* * * * *

Most of the insect life is snugly hidden, but much is in plain sight.
A clump of pussy willows bears many queer-shaped clusters which the
entomologist calls pine cone galls; in the center of each one a larva
dwells in his silken case. On the red oaks over head are other
galls,--the oak apples. The buttonbush has the ash-colored cocoon of
the giant silkworm, made out of a rolled leaf, the petiole of which is
fastened to the branch with silk. Many others are to be found for the
looking. All tell the story of Nature's abundant life,--even the
morning after a February snow storm. All speak