as the
occupant made his escape. What a damp basement that house has, I
thought, and what a pity to rout a peaceful neighbor out of his bed in
this weather, and into such a state of things as this! But water does
not wet the muskrat; his fur is charmed, and not a drop penetrates it.

Where the ground is favorable, the muskrats do not build these
mound-like nests, but burrow into the bank a long distance, and
establish their winter quarters there.

The muskrat does not hibernate like some rodents, but is pretty active
all winter. In December I noticed in my walk where they had made
excursions of a few yards to an orchard for frozen apples. One day,
along a little stream, I saw a mink track amid those of the muskrat;
following it up, I presently came to blood and other marks of strife
upon the snow beside a stone wall. Looking in between the stones, I
found the carcass of the luckless rat, with its head and neck eaten
away. The mink had made a meal of him.

VI

THE SKUNK

In February a new track appears upon the snow, slender and delicate,
about a third larger than that of the gray squirrel, indicating no haste
or speed, but, on the contrary, denoting the most imperturbable ease and
leisure, the footprints so close together that the trail appears like a
chain of curiously carved links. Sir _Mephitis mephitica_, or, in plain
English, the skunk, has waked up from his six weeks' nap, and come out
into society again. He is a nocturnal traveler, very bold and impudent,
coming quite up to the barn and outbuildings, and sometimes taking up
his quarters for the season under the haymow. There is no such word as
hurry in his dictionary, as you may see by his path upon the snow. He
has a very sneaking, insinuating way, and goes creeping about the fields
and woods, never once in a perceptible degree altering his gait, and, if
a fence crosses his course, steers for a break or opening to avoid
climbing. He is too indolent even to dig his own hole, but appropriates
that of a woodchuck, or hunts out a crevice in the rocks, from which he
extends his rambling in all directions, preferring damp, thawy weather.
He has very little discretion or cunning, and holds a trap in utter
contempt, stepping into it as soon as beside it, relying implicitly for
defense against all forms of danger upon the unsavory punishment he is
capable of inflicting. He is quite indifferent to both man and beast,
and will not hurry himself to get out of