But this it never got.
The winter had come to stay, and it waxed more and more severe, till
the unprecedented cold of the last days of December must have
astonished even the wise muskrats in their snug retreat. I approached
their nest at this time, a white mound upon the white, deeply frozen
surface of the pond, and wondered if there was any life in that
apparent sepulchre. I thrust my walking-stick sharply into it, when
there was a rustle and a splash into the water, as the occupant made
his escape. What a damp basement that house has, I thought, and what a
pity to rout out 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.
Shall we not say, then, in view of the above facts, that this little
creature is weather-wise? The hitting of the mark twice might be mere
good luck; but three bull's-eyes in succession is not a mere
coincidence; it is a proof of skill.
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