A more cunningly contrived retreat from an enemy could not be invented. It shows that this wild mouse of the woods possesses intelligence which passes far beyond the powers of instinct.
It would take a volume to record the incidents that have transpired in connection with these mice during the fifteen years of my hermit life.
MOLE.
Some of these incidents are comical, others pathetic, and, alas! others are tragic. One in the comical line happened to a young man from the city who thirsted for more knowledge of the wild things. He stayed one moonlight evening to see the mice eat. It often happened, when the mice were gathered about a loaf of bread, that a star-nosed mole would appear and scatter them in all directions. If I chanced to be sitting near, it was no unusual thing for a mouse to run up my trousers-leg. I kindly allowed the young man the post of honor near the bread. Just what I expected took place. The mole appeared, and a frightened mouse rushed up the young man's trousers-leg. With a war-whoop that would have frightened an Indian, he bounded into the dooryard. The mouse escaped from beneath his coat-collar before he got out of the cabin. The young fellow danced around like a crazy man. Whenever his clothes touched him he thought the mouse was getting in its deadly work, and administered slaps that must have raised blisters. When I could control my laughter I told him that the mouse had escaped. I could not induce him to enter the cabin again.
The nests of these mice are globular, but are varied to fit the surroundings. Near the cabin they are made of bits of paper matted with cotton-batting and a soft wool manufactured by the mice from my old clothes.
The nests remote from the cabin are made of bits of dried leaves, grasses, and plant-down. These last are usually placed in a tangle of catbrier. Many of these nests are occupied through the winter. I examined one last week. It was about five inches in diameter, and was composed of bits of leaves and milk-weed silk. It was rain and frost proof.
I sometimes find nests in tin cans. Once I found a nest in a paper bag. The paper bag was in a tangle of catbrier. It was nearly three feet from the ground, and doubtless was lodged where found by the wind.
The mother-mouse is devoted to the welfare of her little family, which may number anywhere from four to ten. When the young mice are small they are raw-looking things, but are tough, wiry, and tenacious of life. At this stage, full-grown moles would destroy a family in a few seconds, if it were not for the watchful care of the mother.
