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THE MARTENS.
89
"Well, maybe you are right," replied my
little friend, " so here goes.
" I was born far away in the north of
America, where the winter is long and severe,
and altogether different from what we
experience in this dreadful climate, where we
only have fog instead of frost; there, for many
months the earth is thickly clothed with snow,
which hangs on the trees in rich festoons, and
in the forest where we live the most profound
and impressive silence seems to say that all
nature is wrapped in a deep sleep, and so it is;
only the wild animals—which abound in these
regions—and man, who is always active and
always ready to take an unfair advantage of
what he calls the inferior animals, preserve
their vitality.
" Our father was a marten of wonderful
sense and cleverness, and under his guidance
we soon learned to lie in wait for and pounce
upon the smaller animals on which we prey.
How deeply we used to lay our schemes for
capturing them, and what rapture we young
ones felt when after having patiently tracked
our prey, sometimes for miles, we at last
overtook it, and with one glorious rush seized it and
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