f the water in the pond. It was
as high as usual. The beavers had repaired the break.

Day after day he cut the dam, night after night, the beavers repaired
it. He trapped five of them before they became "trap-wise." After
that they either turned the traps over or covered them with mud. After
trying a number of ruses to frighten them away, the man hung a lighted
lantern in the break he had opened in the dam. The next morning his
whistle piped, merrily, the break was still open. But his joy was
short-lived, for on the following night the beavers constructed a new
section of dam above the break, curving it like a horseshoe.

"Hope they appreciated my givin' 'em light to work by," he laughed; and
gave up the contest.

Beavers seem to possess sagacity in varying degrees. The old animals
are wise according to their years; the stupid and lazy die young. They
adapt themselves quickly to changed conditions; they outwit their
enemies by sheer cunning, never in physical combat; rarely do they
defend themselves--and not once have I known one to take the offensive
side of a fray. Watching them waddling along, one wonders how they
accomplish their great engineering feats in so short a time. Of
course, they can move more rapidly in water than on land, but I suspect
its "everlasting teamwork" that accounts for their achievements. They
are prolific and, unlike the bees, drones are unknown to them.
Cooperative industry--there lies the secret.

I was absent from my cabin for more than a year; and upon my return at
once visited the Old Settlers. Like any other thriving community, they
had made several improvements--two new ponds and houses had been built.
Tracks in the edge of a small new pond showed that my pioneer friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Peg, had removed to a new home. Whether the increasing
number of beavers in the larger pond got on the old folks' nerves, I do
not know; but whatever the reason, they were living alone. I walked
rapidly toward their home, instead of approaching slowly and giving
them a chance to look me over. As I neared the edge of the road, one
of them, I presume Pa Peg, smote the water a mighty whack with his
tail. Both disappeared. I watched for their reappearance, for I knew
that they were watching me from their concealment among the willows. I
sang, whistled, called to them to come out--that I was their old friend
returned. My persistence was at last rewarded. Shyly they came to the
surface,