Lines and
boundaries are disregarded; gates and bar-ways are unclosed; man lets
go his hold upon the earth; title-deeds are deep buried beneath the
snow; the best-kept grounds relapse to a state of nature; under the
pressure of the cold all the wild creatures become outlaws, and roam
abroad beyond their usual haunts. The partridge comes to the orchard
for buds; the rabbit comes to the garden and lawn; the crows and jays
come to the ash-heap and corn-crib, the snow-buntings to the stack and
to the barn-yard; the sparrows pilfer from the domestic fowls; the pine
grosbeak comes down from the north and shears your maples of their
buds; the fox prowls about your premises at night, and the red
squirrels find your grain in the barn or steal the butternuts from your
attic. In fact, winter, 1ike some great calamity, changes the status
of most creatures and sets them adrift. Winter, like poverty, makes us
acquainted with strange bedfellows.
For my part, my nearest approach to a strange bedfellow is the little
gray rabbit that has taken up her abode under my study floor.
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