that led, deep down under the moss, straight to her nest beneath
the stone.

Besides these older mice, there were five or six smaller ones,
all shy save one, who from the first showed not the slightest
fear but came straight to my hand, ate his crumbs, and went up my
sleeve, and proceeded to make himself a warm nest there by
nibbling wool from my flannel shirt.

In strong contrast to this little fellow was another who knew
too well what fear meant. He belonged to another tribe that had
not yet grown accustomed to man's ways. I learned too late how
careful one must be in handling the little creatures that live
continually in the land where fear reigns.

A little way behind my tent was a great fallen log, mouldy and
moss-grown, with twin-flowers shaking their bells along its
length, under which lived a whole colony of wood mice. They ate
the crumbs that I placed by the log; but they could never be
tolled to my table, whether because they had no split-eared old
veteran to spy out the man's ways, or because my own colony drove
them away, I could never find out. One day I saw Tookhees dive
under the big log as I approached, and having nothing more
important to do, I placed one big crumb near his entrance,
stretched out in the moss, hid my hand in a dead brake near the
tempting morsel, and squeaked the call. In a moment Tookhees'
nose and eyes appeared in his doorway, his whiskers twitching
nervously as he smelled the candle grease. But he was suspicious
of the big object, or perhaps he smelled the man too and was
afraid, for after much dodging in and out he disappeared