It is now day. The upper edge of the sun has just risen, red and
frosty-looking, in the east, and countless myriads of icy particles
glitter on every tree and bush in its red rays; while the white tops of
the snow-drifts, which dot the surface of the small lake at which we
have just arrived, are tipped with the same rosy hue. The lake is of
considerable breadth, and the woods on its opposite shore are barely
visible. An unbroken coat of pure white snow covers its entire surface,
whilst here and there a small islet, covered with luxuriant evergreens,
attracts the eye, and breaks the sameness of the scene. At the extreme
left of the lake, where the points of a few bulrushes and sedgy plants
appear above the snow, are seen a number of small earthy mounds, in the
immediate vicinity of which the trees and bushes are cut and barked in
many places, while some of them are nearly cut down. This is a colony
of beavers. In the warm months of summer and autumn, this spot is a
lively, stirring place, as the beavers are then employed _nibbling_ down
trees and bushes, for the purpose of repairing their dams, and supplying
their storehouses with food. The bark of willows is their chief food,
and all the bushes in the vicinity are more or less cut through by these
persevering little animals. Their dams, however (which are made for the
purpose of securing to themselves a constant sufficiency of water), are
made with large trees; and stumps will be found, if you choose to look
for them, as thick as a man's leg, which the beavers have entirely
nibbled through, and dragged by their united efforts many yards from
where they grew.

Now, however, no sign of animal life is to be seen, as the beavers keep
within doors all winter; yet I venture to state that there are many now
asleep under the snow before us. It is not, reader, merely for the
purpose of showing you the outside of a beaver-lodge that I have brought
you such a distance from human habitations. Be patient, and you shall
soon see more. Do you observe that small black speck moving over the
white surface of the lake, far away on the horizon? It looks like a
crow, but the forward motion is much too steady and constant for that.
As it approaches, it assumes the form of a man; and at last the figure
of Stemaw, dragging his empty sleigh behind him (for he has left his
wolf and foxes in the last night's encampment, to be taken up when
returning home), becomes clearly distinguish