green leaves and the tinkling notes of tree sparrows, and we hardly know
which is the more beautiful. A little farther and we are in a tangle of
pink and magenta raspberry vines from which the green leaves are just
pushing out. The elder has made a great start; the yellowish-green shoots
from the stems and from the roots are already more than six inches long.
The panicled dogwood and the red-osier dogwood (no, not the flowering
dogwood) as yet show no signs of foliage, but the fine white lines in the
bark of the bladdernut, which have been so attractive all winter, are now
enhanced by the soft myrtle green of the tender young leaves. The shrubby
red cedar is twice as fresh and green as it was a month ago, as it hangs
down the face of the splintered rock where the farmer boys have set a
trap to catch the mother mink. But Mrs. Mink is wary. Here is a pile of
feathers, evidently from a wild duck, which seems to indicate that while
the duck was making a meal of a fish which she had brought to shore, the
mink pounced upon her and ate both duck and fish.

While we stand looking there is a slight movement among the roots of a
silver maple at the river's brink. A moment later Mrs. Mink comes around
the tree and towards us. She is about eighteen inches long, with a bushy
tail about another eight inches, her blackish-brown body about as big
round as a big man's wrist, and she has a "business-looking" face and
jaw. Did you ever try to take the young minks from their nest in the
latter part of April and did Mrs. Mink fight? She hasn't seen or smelled
us yet, but suddenly when she is within seven feet of us, there is an
upward movement of that supple, snakelike neck, a quick glance of those
black diamond eyes, and she turns at right angles and dives into the
river. A frog could not enter the water so silently.

* * * * *