ay to get a glimpse of them at work
is to make a break in their dam and pull the top from one of their
houses some autumn afternoon, at the time of full moon. Just before
twilight you must steal back and hide some distance from the dam. Even
then the chances are against you, for the beavers are suspicious, keen
of ear and nose, and generally refuse to show themselves till after
the moon sets or you have gone away. You may have to break their dam
half a dozen times, and freeze as often, before you see it repaired.

It is a most interesting sight when it comes at last, and well repays
the watching. The water is pouring through a five-foot break in the
dam; the roof of a house is in ruins. You have rubbed yourself all
over with fir boughs, to destroy some of the scent in your clothes,
and hidden yourself in the top of a fallen tree. The twilight goes;
the moon wheels over the eastern spruces, flooding the river with
silver light. Still no sign of life. You are beginning to think of
another disappointment; to think your toes cannot stand the cold
another minute without stamping, which would spoil everything, when a
ripple shoots swiftly across the pool, and a big beaver comes out on
the bank. He sits up a moment, looking, listening; then goes to the
broken house and sits up again, looking it all over, estimating
damages, making plans. There is a commotion in the water; three others
join him--you are warm now.

Meanwhile three or four more are swimming about the dam, surveying the
damage there. One dives to the bottom, but comes up in a moment to
report all safe below. Another is tugging at a thick pole just below
you. Slowly he tows it out in front, balances a moment and lets it
go--_good!_--squarely across the break. Two others are cutting alders
above; and here come the bushes floating down. Over at the damaged
house two beavers are up on the walls, raising the rafters into place;
a third appears to be laying on the outer covering and plastering it
with mud. Now and then one sits up straight like a rabbit, listens,
stretches his back to get the kinks out, then drops to his work again.

It is brighter now; moon and stars are glimmering in the pool. At the
dam the sound of falling water grows faint as the break is rapidly
closed. The houses loom larger. Over the dome of the one broken, the
dark outline of a beaver passes triumphantly. Quick work that. You
grow more interested; you stretch your neck to see--_splash_! A bea