only to scatter crumbs and squeak a few times like a mouse, when
little streaks and flashes would appear on the moss or among the
faded gold tapestries of old birch leaves, and the little wild
things would come to my table, their eyes shining like jet, their
tiny paws lifted to rub their whiskers or to shield themselves
from the fear under which they lived continually.

They were not all alike--quite the contrary. One, the same who
had washed in my cup, was gray and old, and wise from much
dodging of enemies. His left ear was split from a fight, or an
owl's claw, probably, that just missed him as he dodged under a
root. He was at once the shyest and boldest of the lot. For a day
or two he came with marvelous stealth, making use of every dead
leaf and root tangle to hide his approach, and shooting across
the open spaces so quickly that one knew not what had happened-
-just a dun streak which ended in nothing. And the brown leaf
gave no sign of what it sheltered. But once assured of his
ground, he came boldly. This great man-creature, with his face
close to the table, perfectly still but for his eyes, with a
hand that moved gently if it moved at all, was not to be
feared--that Tookhees felt instinctively. And this strange fire
with hungry odors, and the white tent, and the comings and goings
of men who were masters of the woods kept fox and lynx and owl
far away--that he learned after a day or two. Only the mink, who
crept in at night to steal the man's fish, was to be feared. So
Tookhees presently gave up his nocturnal habits and came out
boldly into the sunlight. Ordinarily the little creatures come
out in the dusk, when their quick movements are hidden among the
shadows that creep and quiver. But with fear gone, they are only
too glad to run about in the daylight, especially when good