them--talking, laughing, rustling, smashing twigs, disturbing the
peace of the solitudes by what must seem strange and uncouth
noises to the little wild creatures. They, on the other hand,
slip with noiseless feet through their native coverts, shy,
silent, listening, more concerned to hear than to be heard,
loving the silence, hating noise and fearing it, as they fear and
hate their natural enemies.

We would not feel comfortable if a big barbarian came into
our quiet home, broke the door down, whacked his war-club on the
furniture, and whooped his battle yell. We could hardly be
natural under the circumstances. Our true dispositions would hide
themselves. We might even vacate the house bodily. Just so Wood
Folk. Only as you copy their ways can you expect to share their
life and their secrets. And it is astonishing how little the
shyest of them fears you, if you but keep silence and avoid all
excitement, even of feeling; for they understand your feeling
quite as much as your action.

A dog knows when you are afraid of him; when you are hostile;
when friendly. So does a bear. Lose your nerve, and the horse you
are riding goes to pieces instantly. Bubble over with suppressed
excitement, and the deer yonder, stepping daintily down the bank
to your canoe in the water grasses, will stamp and snort and
bound away without ever knowing what startled him. But be quiet,
friendly, peace-possessed in the same place, and the deer, even
after discovering you, will draw near and show his curiosity in
twenty pretty ways ere he trots away, looking back over his
shoulder for your last message. Then be generous--show him the
flash of a looking-glass, the flutter of a bright handkerchief, a