tent with lying still and taking only what came to them. They seemed
to acquire a mental appetite for impressions that was almost as ravenous
as their stomachs' appetite for milk, and their weak little legs were
forced to lift their squat little bodies and carry them on exploring
expeditions around the inside of the hollow tree, where they bumped
their heads against the walls, and stumbled and fell down over the
inequalities of the floor. They got a good many impressions during these
excursions, and some of them were mental and some were physical. And
sometimes they explored their mother, and went scrambling and
sprawling all over her, probably getting about as well acquainted with
her as it is possible to be with a person whom one has never seen. For
their eyes were still closed, and they must have known her only as a
big, kind, loving, furry thing, that fed them, and warmed them, and
licked them, and made them feel good, and yet was almost as vague and
indefinite as something in a dream. But the hour came at last when for
the first time they saw the light of day shining in through the hole in
the side of their tree. And while they were looking at it--and probably
blinking at it--a footstep sounded outside, the hole was suddenly
darkened, and a round, hairy face looked in--a face with big, unwinking
eyes, pointed, tufted ears, and a thick whisker brushed back from under
its chin. Do you suppose they recognized their mother? I don't believe
they did. But when she jumped in beside them, then they knew her, and
the impression they gained that day was one of the most wonderful of
all.

In looks, these kittens of the woods were not so very different from
those of the backyard, except that they were bigger and perhaps a little
clumsier, and that their paws were very large, and their tails very
short and stubby. They grew stronger as the days went on, and their
legs did not wobble quite so much when they went travelling around the
inside of the tree. And they learned to use their ears as well as their
eyes. They knew what their mother's step meant at the entrance, and they
liked to hear her purr.

Other sounds there were which they did not understand so well, and to
most of which they gave little heed--the scream of the rabbit when the
big gray cat leaps on him from behind a bush; the scolding of the red
squirrel, disturbed and angry at the sight, and fearful that he may be
the next victim; the bark of the fox; the rasping o