There is ample room for more complete life histories of many small beasts that are common enough around our country homes; and fortunately the need is now being met by various good field naturalists. Just last summer, in mid-July, 1907, I had an entirely novel experience with foxes, which illustrates how bold naturally shy creatures sometimes are after nightfall. Some of the boys and I were camping for the night on the beach by the Sound, under a clay bluff, having gone thither in the dory and the two light rowing skiffs; it was about a quarter of a mile from the place where we had seen the big red fox four or five years previously. The fire burned all night, and one or other of the party would now and then rise and stand by it; nevertheless, two young foxes, evidently cubs of the year, came round the fire, within plain sight, half a dozen times. They were picking up scraps; two or three times they came within ten yards of the fire. They were very active, scampering up the bluffs; and when in the bushes made a good deal of noise, whereas a full-grown fox generally moves in silence even when in dead brush. Small mammals, with the exception of squirrels, are so much less conspicuous than birds, and indeed usually pass their lives in such seclusion, that the ordinary observer is hardly aware of their presence. At Sagamore Hill, for instance, except at haying time I rarely see the swarming meadow mice, the much less plentiful pine mice, or the little mole-shrews, alive, unless they happen to drop into a pit or sunken area which has been dug at one point to let light through a window into the cellar. The much more graceful and attractive white-footed mice and jumping mice are almost as rarely seen, though if one does come across a jumping mouse it at once attracts attention by its extraordinary leaps. The jumping mouse hibernates, like the woodchuck; and so does the chipmunk, though not always. The other little animals just mentioned are abroad all winter, the meadow mice under the snow, the white-footed mice, and often the shrews, above the snow. The tell-tale snow, showing all the tracks, betrays the hitherto unsuspected existence of many little creatures; and the commonest marks upon it are those of the rabbit and especially of the white-footed mouse. The shrew walks or trots and makes alternate footsteps in the snow. White-foot, on the contrary, always jumps, whether going slow or fast, and his hind feet leave their prints side by side, often with the mark where the tail has dragged. I think white-foot is the most plentiful of all our furred wild creatures, taken as a whole. He climbs trees well; I have found his nest in an old vireo’s nest; but more often under stumps or boards. The meadow mice often live in the marshes, and are entirely at home in the water.