Many stories have been told in the past, tending to show that wild animals when in trouble will display surprising confidence in man, in fact will often seek his assistance when sore beset. The writer, when a boy upon a farm in Minnesota, had an experience with a field mouse which prettily illustrates this trait in wild creatures. It was stacking time and the men were all busy in the fields lifting the shocks of cured grain and stacking them in hive-shaped stacks in the barnyard. The writer, a barefoot boy at that time, had been following the wagons in the field all the morning in a vain endeavor to capture some field mice to take home as pets. He had seen a number of the drab little creatures with their short tails, but had failed to lay his hands upon any of them, owing to the thick stubble and the nimbleness of the mice. At last, as a particularly large shock was lifted, a broken nest was disclosed and the youthful mouser was put upon the qui vive by the slender squeaks of seven or eight hairless little beings that were so young as not to have opened their eyes as yet. The mother disappeared with a whisk, whereupon the young hunter sat down in a critical attitude beside the nest and began to examine his find. He had already put one of the young mice in his trousers pocket when the mother reappeared out of the stubble beside the nest. The boy held his breath and awaited developments. Much to his surprise, the mouse-mother, after carefully examining the ruined nest, entered his pocket, which, as he sat, opened very near to the nest. She seemed to come to the conclusion very quickly that her lost little one had found a very good home, and in about two minutes had transferred the remainder of her offspring from the nest to the pocket, carrying them one at a time in her mouth. The writer has had many varied experiences with wild animals, but none of them impressed him so strongly as the episode of the mouse-mother in the wheat stubble. J. Clyde Hayden. THE OPENING OF WINTER BUDS. In our cold temperate zone spring means chiefly the changing of the trees from their naked winter condition to the beautiful green leafy appearance of early summer. When stripped of their foliage, trees present to the observant eye a great variety of form. The tall, slender poplar can easily be distinguished from the spreading elm as far as it is seen; as, also, can the rough-barked hickory, with its clinging strips of bark, from the smooth beech.