Even when the
peculiarity is slight--a wound, or a deformity--they drive the poor
victim from their midst remorselessly. It is a cruel instinct, but
part of one of the oldest in creation, the instinct which preserves
the species. This explains why the bank beaver never finds a mate;
none of the beavers will have anything to do with him.
This occasional lack of instinct is not peculiar to the beavers. Now
and then a bird is hatched here in the North that has no impulse to
migrate. He cries after his departing comrades, but never follows. So
he remains and is lost in the storms of winter.
There are few creatures in the wilderness more difficult to observe
than the beavers, both on account of their extreme shyness and because
they work only by night. The best way to get a glimpse of them at work
is to make a break in their dam and pull the top from one of their
houses some autumn afternoon, at the time of full moon. Just before
twilight you must steal back and hide some distance from the dam. Even
then the chances are against you, for the beavers are suspicious, keen
of ear and nose, and generally refuse to show themselves till after
the moon sets or you have gone away. You may have to break their dam
half a dozen times, and freeze as often, before you see it repaired.
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