IT WAS early April when we next saw our Sanctuary. Winter had departed, but it had left some of its belongings. On the north side of hills and in protected places there were remnants of snow.

Most impeding to our progress was the cold fact that ice still ruled the lakes. The ice was at the stage where it was too thin to bear our weight, yet so thick no boat could plow through it. Along the shores there was a channel of open water about ten feet wide, while the rest of the surface was monopolized by this huge field of floating ice that weighed thousands of tons.

Giny and I felt a bit disheartened as we stood at the end of the road on the shore of the lake which adjoins ours. Our boat had been left here. A twenty-minute row, if one could row, would carry us through a channel, around a point to our island.

We were anxious to reach our home. Since the Christmas visit our days had been filled with intense travel and activity. Now we wanted to be at our cabin to watch the coming of spring. We had been tempting ourselves with thoughts of the cool, quiet, long evenings we would have before the fireplace. There would be time to read and think. Many of our woods friends would be there. Ah—that was the point that gripped us. Our hearts were eager to know which of these creatures were still around and whether they remembered us.

It was this anxiety that impelled me to do a very foolish thing. We had stopped to see Ray, Ada and June, and they had begged us to make no attempt to reach our island until the ice was gone. They invited us to stay with them for the day or days that this might require—how long no one could know for sure. We planned to accept their hospitality, but decided to drive on to the end of the road and look the situation over. Hi-Bub was still in school, a fact for which I am grateful, otherwise he might have been invited along to share in the hazardous experience that followed. What happened furnished material for nightmares for a long time to come.

As we stood looking out across the ice floe a great crack developed, running from the place where we were to the channel leading to our lake. In a few minutes this had become an open thoroughfare about three feet wide. We watched it anxiously. If we could get through that route into our lake, it seemed certain that we could follow along close to the shore until we reached the island. Once there it would make no difference to us how long the ice held on. We had adequate supplies for many days.

To be ready for any opportunity I brought our boat to the water's edge. We kept eying the action of the ice. The channel was still widening. It took on the appearance of a fair-sized river, wide enough to permit free use of oars. I estimated that in five minutes we could get through it and reach the channel into our lake. The idea did not seem quite right, but that was where impatience gave the final push toward wrong decision. "Let's go!" I exclaimed. I charge myself with full responsibility for what followed. Giny was inexperienced with ice floes. However, I had seen them before and knew the crushing power in their tremendous weight. Moving in even a gentle drift, such ice fields are capable of crushing boats, piers, boathouses and of moving concrete pilings.

Quickly we pushed our boat into the water and loaded it with the most important of our luggage and supplies. Not thoroughly convinced of the wisdom of the move, I did think to put into the boat a long iron pipe and a mattock that were in the garage.

We started through the open water, and I rowed with all my strength. We had to get through that channel while the great ice fields remained separated. Everything was going splendidly until we had covered about half the distance. Then we felt a strong gust of wind blow up suddenly.

"Sam, look ahead!" cried Giny.

I did, and what I saw gave me no pleasure. The wind was causing the ice floes to drift together again. The river of open water was closing ominously. In an instant I realized the situation we were in. It was useless to try to return. Our only chance was to go ahead. I pulled desperately at the oars and the boat lunged forward, but obviously it was too late. We could not possibly get through before the gap closed. Our boat would be crushed like an eggshell. Already the channel had narrowed until my oars were striking ice on either side. Giny and I shifted our positions and used the oars as paddles so we could stroke close to the boat. Soon the ice was so close that even this method of paddling was impossible.

"We must try the mattock, Giny," I exclaimed, when I realized that the oars were now useless.

"And with every stroke—a prayer," she added in calm tones. I looked up to see her smiling so fearlessly that I paused an instant to be grateful for such a companion.

In my life in the forest I have often been in circumstances demanding my last ounce of strength. Nature is that way, and there is a rough, strong joy about it. This situation called for all the stamina I had—and made me borrow some. It was necessary for me to keep breaking off large cakes of ice from the margin of the floes that pressed on us from either side so that the crushing power was kept from the boat. I joked about "Crossington washing the Delaware," and managed to grunt that "Old Charley did this," but there was very little humor in my thought. We were in a position that was just plain tough.

As pieces of ice were broken loose, we forced them down under the edge of the floes. This cleared a few inches of water at a time so we could move forward with the boat. But the gains were slight and the distance we must travel relatively great. I dared not pause for a moment. The mattock had to be swinging constantly, or the ice would close in on us. Once the channel did close completely under the bow, lifting the front of the boat into the air. It looked as if we were defeated. Then with the long iron pipe I was able to reach ahead, break loose a large cake and let us down into free water again.

We were saved at another point by Giny's thoughtfulness. She saw that my hands were tiring and my grip on the mattock was not very firm. At her suggestion we tied a rope firmly about the handle of the mattock. It was less than five minutes later when the invaluable tool flew from my hands into the water beneath the ice floe. By aid of the rope we pulled it back quickly and the chopping went on.

How long this battle continued we do not know. Probably it was about three hours, though it seemed much longer than that. Before the end came I had lost all sense of personal strength. My shoulder, arm and back muscles ached severely from the strain. The chopping had to be done in a most awkward way, as I had to reach out from the side of the boat to cut the ice at the greatest possible distance. Every blow must be strong, for the ice was about two feet thick—though fortunately somewhat softened from the spring sunshine and rains.

Surely there is a great reservoir of spiritual power into which faith may dip when the frail and faulty human source is exhausted. Throughout history men have found this to be true. "Man's extremity is God's opportunity."

At one time I felt as if I could not carry on. My feeling of weakness had reached the point where my blows were losing the necessary power. I looked ahead at the long stretch of ice yet to be conquered. It seemed hopeless. Then came to my thought something my sweet mother had once said to me : "The tremendous strength of Jesus was explained when he said, ‘I can of mine own self do nothing' . . . and again, 'the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.' " She pointed out that "he recognized that all real power is from God." Such nuggets of inspiration are a priceless heritage. Recollection of this came as I realized that I was now at that point I could do nothing. In my heart I prayed, trusting my mother's words.

Now a sound caught our attention—a voice from the skies. "Sam !" cried Giny. "Hear that precious little creature. It is he—and he has discovered us."

"Cheer, cheer, cheer!" came the call from a little feathered object that was winging directly toward us. "Congare-e-e-e-e- Congare-e-e-e-e!" went the happy song. There was Cheer, the red-winged blackbird! The last to leave us in the autumn, the first to return in the spring. He circled about us, sometimes fluttering like a helicopter close over our heads. His joy at finding us was unmistakable. I am sure he would have alighted on the boat itself except for the activity that was going on there.

The mattock was swinging again. This bit of good cheer was the mental medicine I needed. The blows of my pick grew stronger--"of strength not my own." The ice broke off in increasingly large chunks. I thought no more of myself but felt an exhilaration in the battle. There was really a wild joy about it.

When at last we slid into the calm open water at the far side of the ice floe, I sank exhausted to the bottom of the boat. Giny uttered a prayer of gratitude for that reserve strength which had come to carry us through. Back of us we could see the path we had cut outlined by floating cakes of ice that were now being ground to pieces. For days afterward my thought reviewed that adventure. Often I dwelt on the tragic end it might have had if I had failed to continue swinging that mattock. The loss of a single blow might have meant the losing of the battle. And I knew that the endurance which carried us through was not in my muscles, but came directly from the Source of all creation.

When we had rested for a time and I could lift the oars once more, we rowed on. Our path was easy now. In our own lake we stayed close to shore where it was ice-free. When we rounded the last point of land we were overjoyed to find the region about our island entirely open.

"You blessed little home!" said Giny as we walked up to our door. "You know how we love you when we will go through an experience like that to get here."

Cheer was not long in joining us. He came singing as usual. He lighted at our feet and strutted around in that funny little way of his, spreading his wings and turning his head from side to side. How he loved the feast of peanut crumbs we gave him!

"It's all right, old top," I said to him. "After what you did for me today I will buy you enough peanuts to fill this house—if you want them."

A few crumbs were enough, however. Then Cheer flew away, perhaps to survey home-building sites for later use. He was the only one of our wildwood friends who put in an appearance those first hours.

Evening came with heavenly calm. We ate our dinner before a grate fire that warmed our spirits as well as our bodies. Presently we heard someone calling our names.

"What ho-Campbells!"

We went outside to listen. It was Ray's voice, coming from the far shore, fully half a mile away.

"Hello, Ray!" we called in unison.

"Are you all right?" came the question.

"Yes, we're all right," we called back, spacing our words so they could be understood.

"I saw your path through the ice," he called. "Came out to see if anything was wrong."

He would! Ray seems to have been put in the world just to do thoughtful, helpful things for others. It had been a long hike for him to the place where he could call to us.

"Thanks," I yelled. "We got through all right." I saved the story for a time when we would be closer together, for I knew Ray understood that no one went through ice that way without a struggle.

"You did a good job," he called back.

However, I felt no pride in what had been done, but rather a chagrin that I had attempted it. It had been a lesson in the folly of impatience--and a severe one.

FOR Two days the ice kept us marooned on the island. The weather was still and cool, and it looked as if the great gray ice floe meant to stay in the lake all summer.

It made no difference to us now, however. This period of isolation gave us time to set our cabin in living order, and to take inventory of our forest friends.

Cheer, of course, was the very first one to report. He was back again at dawn of our first day on the island. He was back every hour all through the day too. As far as we could tell, there was not another blackbird on the lake as yet. Again, one has to be careful not to claim too much in experiences with animals, for after all we can have only opinions about them. However, we felt that our friendship had become a strong influence in Cheer's life, that caused him to face hazards of weather and seasons to be near us longer.

In those early hours the first morning it seemed as if the forest was opening a series of little trap doors to release one creature after another. Stubby, the chipmunk Hi-bub loved so much, came bounding right up to the screen door. Not knowing the art of knocking, he ran up and down the screen until I went out to greet him—and pay the fee in peanuts. Beggar Boy, the other veteran chipmunk, came up to pay his respects and be paid. Then Still-Mo, the red squirrel with the bushy tail, came racing to the cabin, sending the chipmunks toward the horizons.

"Still-Mo !" Giny cried as we recognized the little animal. "Are we glad to see you!" It really was quite an experience. This chickaree had disappeared toward the end of the previous autumn. We had feared she might have suffered one of the tragedies common to forest folk. Here she was back again, however, as lively and as belligerent as ever.

Blooey, the old blue jay, was on hand. He identified himself by catching a peanut we tossed into the air. It always amazes us how these creatures retain memories of their little characteristic stunts. Blooey knew the very tree limb he had perched on when begging for handouts. He knew the rhythm of the event. I would stand near him and count "one, two, three," making motions to toss a peanut at each count. On the first two motions he would merely flutter his wings, but at the word three, he would take to the air to meet the peanut and catch it firmly in his beak. It was now six months since he had gone through this routine. Yet, at first sight of us he recalled it all and executed his part of the act as perfectly as if it had been going on daily.

The same was true of Still-Mo. Where the tiny animal had been during the elapsed months no one could know. It was a safe presumption, however, that she had been through trying experiences, the kind that might erase memories of her habits at the Sanctuary. But it was as if she had never been away. One of her cute tricks was to tease Giny. Giny is a soft object for such teasing anyway, as she loves these little creatures so much that she is always wanting to do something for them. Still-Mo had figured out a route whereby she could climb to the kitchen window and appear directly in front of Giny's work table. Whenever there were pies, cakes, cookies or other culinary products in the making, Still-Mo made the most of it. She would climb to the window and look in at Giny with the most appealing and pathetic expression. One would think she was on the verge of starvation. Giny could never refuse her. She would stop her work and walk toward the cabin door. Still-Mo knew the move. Down she would go, and when Giny opened the door there would be the red squirrel to meet her. Usually Giny placed a handful of nuts on the doorstep to keep the energetic chickaree busy for a few minutes. The nuts would be quickly disposed of and then—back to the kitchen window would come Still-Mo to put on the sob act again. Now nearly a year had passed since this had been done. Yet, while Giny worked at the first breakfast, at the kitchen window appeared the pathetic face of Still-Mo. Of course Giny's heart melted. When she walked to the front door, there was Still-Mo waiting for the expected donation.

Next came Nuisance, now a very powerful red squirrel. We were much pleased at his coming, for I believe Hi-Bub would have been a sad little boy if his beloved "Noothanth" had not returned. Still-Mo did not welcome him as much as we did, however. They engaged in a rough and tumble fight that ended only when each ran away from the other. They perched on stumps a few feet apart and for a long time bored holes in the still atmosphere with the sharp, scolding "chickare-e-e-e-e." Nothing can sound saucier than a red squirrel, and when they are addressing one another their tongues are sharpest.

We walked around the island to see how our trees had endured the winter. All were in good shape except one white pine. It had some markings that made us stop and examine it closely. No question of it; a porcupine had peeled the bark halfway down the tree. It gave us a thrill to see it. Not that we like to lose a tree, but this indicated the probable presence of a porcupine on the island. Could it be one or more of those we had known as pets?

When we were returning to the cabin, Giny suddenly caught my arm. "Look! Look! Look!" she exclaimed. It was a sight that gladdened my heart. Peering out at us from under a shed were four homely faces with shoe-button eyes, cupped ears and dirt-covered noses.

"It's our woodchucks-our little Sausages!" exclaimed Giny excitedly.

Instantly the four little faces disappeared, only to reappear and look us over as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Then encouraged by our entreaties and tender greetings they began advancing toward us in spurts. Once convinced that their memories were not playing them false, and that we were the people they had known before their long hibernation began the previous September, they came to us unhesitatingly.

Six little sausages had gone to sleep in the autumn. We had named them Thuringer, Bratwurst, Salami, Wiener, Patty and O. Bologna. Four now returned to greet us in the spring. That is a good average. The story of the other two would have to be left in the deeply secret diary of Nature. We were sure of the identification of Patty only. Since his babyhood he had some odd mannerisms not shared by the others. Now we could recognize these traits.

His size distinguished him too. He was the runt of the family and although this spring he was a full-grown woodchuck he was still small for his kind.

In the late afternoon came another surprising experience. Giny glanced out the front door and there near our step stood a huge mink. She called me to look at him. He was really a graceful and beautiful creature, for all his bad reputation as a killer. Standing there he looked so peaceful it was hard to believe he was one of the most bloodthirsty of all predators. Our chipmunks and red squirrels had discovered him, but they spent no time in admiring his beauty as we did. They chirped and chattered a warning to the whole woods that a dangerous enemy was at hand.

We decided the visitor must be driven from the island. While I know that predators are necessary in the balance of nature, the friendliness of our island creatures is so valuable to us we cannot permit them to be harmed. Yet I did not want to destroy this invader, for he belongs to nature's scheme. I stepped out of the door to invite him to leave. He looked up at me calmly, moved a few feet and stopped. Not the slightest bit of fear was in evidence. I walked toward him. He gave ground reluctantly, looking at me with puzzled defiance. Apparently he had not expected to see people in this ice-bound country. I picked up a stout stick and beat the ground with it, shouting as I did. He walked away, though there was nothing panicky in his movements. I followed him at a short distance. He stopped and turned around fearlessly to face me. Think of the courage of the rascal. I speak of him as being a large mink, yet he would not have equaled in size a house cat. But there he stood looking at me as though he would just as soon fight as not. I stopped too, beat the ground and shouted until he took a notion to move on. That much noise would have sent a bear away at a gallop. Not this fellow. Had I pressed him harder I believe he would have attacked me.

We continued our little game until the animal reached the edge of the water near our boathouse. He paused for a moment there looking at me as much as to say, "I'm going, mister, but don't get any idea you're chasing me away." I waited patiently for him to take his leave in his own way, admiring his courage the while. I felt definitely attracted to the dachshund-shaped creature. It seemed as if the difference between us might be easily settled and a friendship established.

However, our interests in the forest were too much at variance. I beat the ground once more, insisting that he go. He inched into the icy water, then swam away smoothly and rapidly. I watched him as he skirted the edge of a great ice cake and made his way to the mainland.

"Learn to live on peanuts and then come back to us!" I called after him. However, I fancy his diet remained the same as it had been heretofore. We saw no more of him.

As evening approached came the most precious experience of the day. We saw a solemn, slow old porcupine coming down the path. No doubt it was his sharp, ambercolored teeth that had stripped the bark from our tree. But who was he? Was this a stranger who had discovered our island during the winter and found it a safe and satisfying place to live? Or was it one of our pets? We realized it couldn't be Inky, the first one of these strange creatures whose friendship we had gained. Inky when last seen had been much larger than this one. However, the animal was the right size for either Salt or Pepper, the two we had raised together.

We walked to meet the slow-moving creature. He discovered us and stopped short. We watched closely, for only by his actions could we learn his identity. Would he remember us and, like Still-Mo, recall certain stunts that would tell us his name? It was not so easy this time. This porcupine kept us guessing. At first he seemed actually frightened, and raised his quills. Giny gave the porcupine call. She talked to him in the manner and tones used with our porcupine pets when they were babies. I called in my most reassuring manner too. All this had an effect on the old fellow. He stopped and faced about. His quills went flat to his back. He regarded us closely as if he were trying to understand.

We began to feel sure that this was one of our pets. We reasoned it was most likely Salt. Pepper was not such a mild creature. Certainly a wild porcupine who had never had friendly contact with people would not behave as this one was doing. He rose on his hind legs and stretched his nose toward us, still trying to understand. Giny bent over him. Their faces were not over a foot apart. Still the porcupine showed no alarm.

"Let's try the peanut test," I suggested in a whisper. Since peanuts are not native to the region, it was certain that a wild porky would have no taste for them. On the other hand our pet porcupines had been very fond of them. I shelled one and handed a kernel to Giny. She held it out until it touched the porcupine's nose. This was too much for him as things now stood. Apparently his memory of us and the place was not clear as yet. When he was touched he let out a little squeal. Immediately his wild instincts came to the fore. He whirled about, quills rising. Away he went through the brush. Soon we heard him scratching the bark of a tree as he climbed to a place he regarded as safe.

"He can't fool me, though," declared Giny as we returned to the cabin. "That is Salt. We may have to prove to him who he is, but there's no doubt in my mind."

It was clear to us that moment that one of the first tasks of the season at the Sanctuary would be to get this old creature to recall fully his friendship with us.

During the morning of the third day we saw the ice break up and disappear from our lake. It was a thrilling sight. The whole ice field began rocking under the pressure of a high wind. The motion seemed gentle at first, but surely there were stupendous forces and masses at work. Great cracks appeared. These spread into rivers like the one through which we had gone on the eventful day of our arrival. Then the massive pieces of ice came together again. The action was slow and the collision seemed to be gentle, yet where the edges touched there were mounds of white ice shavings rising like huge snow drifts. Again there would be new cracks, new rivers and then fresh collisions. The wind increased its strength and a warm sun shone down. The process was a quick one. We would never have thought it possible, but within three hours not a pound of ice was left in the lake. The last scene was of a few floating flat-topped icebergs being buffeted by waves. These dissolved as quickly as if they had been made of sugar, and the lake was ready for summer.

With the coming of night the mystical calm which is the poetic mood of Nature returned. No camera can record it, no artist catch the fullness of its heavenly charm, no words describe it, nor can thought fully rise to appreciation of its glory. We built a campfire and sat attentive to its tongues of flames as if they spoke a language pure enough to delve into such celestial things.

Then out of the dark draperies that spread over woods and waters came a canoe, announced only by the soft dipping of its paddles. Ray, Ada and June had come to join us for the evening. The spirit of friendship which attended their arrival was needed in the perfection of the evening. Remember the words of Cowper?

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.

We talked little, for there seemed to be nothing to say that would add to the grandeur of the silent universe. Occasionally we sang a song in muted tones. Then when the midnight hour was near and there arose loud and clear the call of old Meph the wolf Giny said, "That does it! His wild call was all that was needed to make this complete."