CHEER had us awake the next morning at dawn. It was well he did, for there was much to be done that day. As if he had known that, he flew to our bedroom window, perched on a convenient tree and called to us in a manner that left no doubt of his motive. He wanted us to get up. He went to Hi-Bub's window, too, and soon had the boy wide awake and in conversation with him.

What more pleasant manner of awakening could there be than to the musical notes of this blessed feathered alarm clock ! His song and happy manners soon had us all laughing. Before we gave a thought to our own breakfast, we took his cherished peanut crumbs to him. He strutted about, hopped, talked and spread his gorgeous wings as he ate from our hands.

How much do animals know? How keen is their intuition and their understanding of circumstances? I am always stymied by these questions. There is the fear in answering them that we give creatures credit for either too much or too little intelligence. But certain it is that there is a character very deep and profound in these living things with which we share the world, and we glimpse a bit of their true nature only when our attitude is kindly, patient and anxious to understand.

Cheer was unusually persistent in his devotion that morning. In earlier days he would take a few bites of food from us, then as a rule fly away. Not on this autumn morning. He stayed right in our midst. If we walked away, he walked after us. He was reluctant to have us leave to eat our own breakfast, and perched in a tree near at hand where he could see us and sing to us. Food was left for him on the ground, but he did not want to be served that way. We must hold it for him. The companionship was as valuable as the crumbs themselves.

Now why this stepped-up display of affection? Did this little feathered mite know that we were leaving the Sanctuary that day? And did he know at that hour that he was leaving too? For so it happened. Before the day was done Cheer had sailed toward the ever-receding southern horizon—and we had too.

The north country sped its departing guests in a most effective way. We never let ourselves be deceived by a deviation from the usual pattern of that land. The northwoods is a rigorous place and it maintains its character. Our autumn had been disarmingly mild. Yet the disposition of the wilderness remained basically unchanged, and the region would not let us depart without convincing us of that fact.

We had packed our car and finished final closing errands at the cabin. Various kinds of food appropriate for our island pets were left out. The three of us went once more to Old Charley's feeding station, there to leave food that would last the bear until hibernation. We did not see him, though his great tracks were numerous.

During these operations Hi-Bub kept up a running conversation, one of those monotonous flows that one moment we wished would cease and the next we hoped would never end. He always lisped more when he was particularly excited. Now his characteristic was so persistent that Giny and I found ourselves lisping also !

Our lad was too much occupied to feel any sense of loneliness. A certain versatile and fabulous Little John Deer Foot was becoming very real to him. Already the long name had been shortened to "John." We frequently caught fragments of conversation between the two-at least we heard Hi-Bub's remarks and I presume if we had been a bit more attentive and imaginative we would have heard John's end of it.

"John-you keep pettin' Th-tubby while I go for more peanut-th," said Hi-Bub.

John must have done so, for when Hi-Bub returned Stubby the chipmunk was there patiently waiting for him. "Thankth, John," said Hi-Bub casually. "Now you go an' thee if Cheer ith all right. I think I heard him cry."

On inquiry I found that John had come back saying that Cheer was all right and would be over pretty soon. In a few minutes Cheer came, and you just can't argue against evidence like that!

Little John Deer Foot seemed to have no limitations. On Hi-Bub's instructions he went down in the woodchuck tunnels to see if Patty and O. Bologna were covered up well so they would be warm for winter. He went out to see if Rack and Ruin the raccoons had a good tree to live in. It seems that the tree wasn't so good-therefore Little John Deer Foot guided them to another. The tireless Indian boy inspected the chipmunk homes and told the tiny striped creatures they had better store up more food. Strangely, that is just what they did. He told the squirrels to hide some food in the trees so it wouldn't be covered by snow—that was done too.

Hi-Bub was a relentless boss. He sent his invisible pal to pluck the last leaves off a birch tree. The leaves came floating down all right. He sent him back to say good-by to the coyotes and to old Meph, the wolf. Next he dispatched him to find Old Charley to tell the bear not to get into any more trouble but to go to bed early so he could wake up in the spring. I asked if Little John Deer Foot would please cover up our wood pile. I guess he was too busy, for presently I saw that it hadn't been done and did it myself.

Toward noon came our parting pat from the northwoods. For a few minutes all nature stood perfectly still. In the northwestern sky we discovered some ominous, dark, low clouds. They were moving toward us at a startling pace, though about us the world was still calm. Not a breath of wind stirred, not a leaf moved, not a wave wrinkled the lake. As we arrived at the island on our return from Old Charley's dining room, we could hear a roar in the distance. On faraway hills we could see trees bending and whipping about. The oncoming clouds were so low they seemed to brush the earth.

Suddenly the wind struck. Trees about the cabin seemed actually to bend before the gale came, as if they were trying to dodge the blow. In an instant it was cold. All memory of the mild autumn and summer temperatures was gone. Our thermometer recorded a drop of twenty degrees within as many minutes.

At the first touch of this wind we heard the call of Cheer. Rising gracefully and calling constantly, he disappeared over the treetops to the south. Some way we knew this was our last look at him, for this season at least. He took a portion of our hearts with him, and I am sure he left behind some of his. Skeptics may scoff at such things if they wish. They may say it was only the warm weather and the abundance of food that caused our redwing to tarry with us. We stand our ground. There was something far more important to this adventure than a doubting thought can see. There are elements of creation that only kindliness, faith and love reveal. What we saw in the friendship of Cheer was the gift of these qualities. As he flew away we felt so convinced that he was departing that we called our good-bys after him.

"Little John will take care of you, Cheer," called Hi-Bub.

Then we learned the source of the roar we had heard. A wall of hard sleet drove fiercely through the trees. We could not see the far shore of the lake through the curtain of white particles that pelted the earth. The ground was immediately covered. The transition was quick and complete. Winter was instantly at hand.

The adventure was not in the least displeasing to us. Quite to the contrary, we loved it. This was the character of our beloved north country. It is a land that demands something of men, women and children. Sternness and severity are inseparable parts of its charm.

We were out in the storm with upturned faces and outspread arms as if to embrace this spirit of the north. "Thith ith thwell, Tham Cammel, thith ith thwelll" cried Hi-Bub, eyes closed as he faced the wind, cheeks glowing red from the touch of cold and pelting of sleet.

The temperature continued to drop, and the sleet changed to fitful spurts of snow. During a slight lull in the storm we crossed from the island to the mainland where our car awaited us. As we passed through the village we left Hi-Bub with his parents. A hurried and not too tearful good-by was said. Then we drove on to our winter's work. Fifty miles to the south we found cold rain stead of snow. A hundred miles--and we had left the storm behind. One hundred and fifty miles of driving brought us to the first sizable city. The clank and clatter, the hurry and excitement of it was a shock to us. It was not easy to become adjusted to an atmosphere so different from that which we had just left. But it helped greatly to know that in the direction of the North Star, which we could see dimly in spite of street lights, the wilderness lived on. It was good to know that Hi-Bub was there, yes, and Little John Deer Foot too.

I AM deeply grateful that it has been my lot to meet many people in a way that is both general and personal. Whenever I think of the thousands of upturned faces I have looked on from the lecture platform, I want to borrow a much-used word from Hi-Bub's vocabulary and say: "These are thwell people, just thwell!"

I am not blind to the evils and problems which seem to beset human experience. Yet the conviction is growing with me that our troubles are not such ponderous and difficult things as we have supposed. The enemies to our happiness are more in the nature of mistakes, errors, superstitions, fears—things that have no power or substance except that which we give them in ignorance.

See how quickly our notion of nature is changed as the truth is learned. When we have seen but little of forest and jungle we fancy it is a constant battlefield. We conjure up tales of savagery and bestial ferocity. Yet as we become acquainted with the world of plant and animal we find there is a certain charm and peace to it, even in its severe aspects. We find too a capacity for friendship, devotion and loyalty.

So it is with the human race. Those who love people little have seen little of them. What is right with our fellows far outweighs what is wrong. I am sure we should hear more of this view. We know that we cannot scold and whip a child into being his best. We cannot abuse ourselves into improvement. Far better a recognition of what is good and commendable than a continuous reprimand for our mistakes.

The storms of the ocean take place on a very thin surface. In the depths there reign calmness and peace. So with the troubles of human experience. The wars and other evils take place on the surface, in the thin scum of selfishness, fear, greed and misunderstanding. In the depth of our true being—in love and Godliness and kindliness—there resides an undisturbed harmony to which we may easily turn.

One of our greatest illusions is that we are separate and different from one another. I have looked down on audiences in cities of the North, South, East and West. Among them have been every nationality and every creed. Yet, when they thought in the common language of nature, let their thoughts dwell in the realm of created and growing things, the same sweet and lovable expression has come to them all.

Yes, people are "thwell!" Think of a created being who is mentally capable of brotherly love, honesty, service, goodness, loyalty, happiness. Such is man. Even if he hasn't used these qualities as much as he should, he is capable of them. Small wonder Scripture says of him that "he is fearfully and wonderfully made."

Giny and I talked often along these lines as we went about on our lecture tour. Everywhere we saw the same goodness we loved in Hi-Bub, in Cheer, in Stubby and the rest. In fact, sometimes we saw it revealed in ways and places that were complete surprises.

One evening I sat on the platform of a large auditorium waiting to begin my lecture. Some late-comers entered at the back of the hall. As they walked down the aisle I saw much excitement among those near them, and heard delighted laughter. I looked toward them and rubbed my eyes, unable to believe what I saw. But there was no mistake about it. Down the aisle came a beautiful raccoon, tugging impatiently at the leash which held him. It was a gray raccoon that looked very much like Racket. The creature was being led by a smiling girl of high-school age, who obviously knew the effect this would have on me. The audience waited understandingly for many minutes while Giny and I fondled "Sambo," as he had been named in honor of me. His young mistress had saved him from dogs the previous summer, we learned, and had made a pet of him. "I thought Mrs. Campbell and you might be lonesome for some of your animals at the Sanctuary," she said, "so I brought Sambo over."

Little did she know how much it meant to us to take that lovely creature in our arms. He was accustomed to good treatment by human hands, and he nestled close to us, running his front feet in characteristic manner over our eyes, nose and ears and into our hair. Sambo was one who enjoyed the lecture that night, or at least he enjoyed being at the lecture. He went sound asleep in the girl's arms, and I could hear him snoring softly during some of the most solemn parts of my oration.

At a grammar school I was invited into the third-grade room where I was told a surprise awaited me. I went in to find that a pet crow had taken over the management of things, and thirty children had completely abandoned the pursuit of readin', writin' and 'rithmetic to watch this funny old bird tip over inkwells, steal chalk, pencils and pens, and perch on the head of the eight-year-old boy who owned him. As I walked up to him, Black Beauty, as he had been named, flew to my hand. There he sat talking in a strange tongue, apparently striving to tell me how he happened to be there and how silly it was for all these children to be cooped up in such a cage. Black Beauty was a dandy. He reached in my pocket, plucked out a gold pencil, and dropped it on the floor while the children screamed with delight. The teacher had long since abandoned any hope of order until something was done with Black Beauty. I found a piece of candy in my pocket and offered it to the crow. He wasn't hungry at the time, so he flew across the room carrying the candy in his beak and buried it in a flower pot bringing another merry outburst from the children.

Back he came and perched on my shoulder. While he screamed in one ear trying to tell me his version of things, the teacher told me hers. It seemed that Gerald, the eight year-old who owned the crow, had recently moved in from the country. Black Beauty had been a pet at his country home a few miles away. While it nearly broke Gerald's heart, the crow was left behind, for certainly the city was no place to take such a creature. Gerald's family had been living in their new apartment home less than a week when one morning at dawn they heard a sound at the window. There, peering in at them, was Black Beauty. How he found them is one of those mysteries which challenge human explanation. It was a miracle of instinct. However he did it, Black Beauty was with his family again and everyone was happy, particularly Gerald. That day they played together again. Gerald had a little bicycle, and he went dashing up and down the sidewalk with Black Beauty fluttering along trying desperately to ride on the boy's head.

Troubles were not over, however. Schooltime came, and Gerald must take his place in the class. Black Beauty was kept confined the first morning of school and was not released until Gerald was in the school room. About an hour later the teacher of the third grade and all the students were startled by a great commotion at one of the windows. There was Black Beauty, who had performed another miracle of instinct and perseverance and located his young master again. The teacher asked the students to be quiet, and vainly hoped the bird would go away. But who can keep quiet when a crow is pecking at the window pane, fluttering and trying to force his way in, screaming raucously all the while? In desperation, the teacher opened the window and admitted the determined crow. Immediately the bird flew over and perched on Gerald's head, to the delight of all the children.

No book "larnin' " was accomplished that day in the third grade, though surely something very valuable about kindness and faithfulness was learned from Gerald's pet. Black Beauty had the time of his life. He was the center of attention and loved it. He went about the room getting acquainted with everyone present. Whenever a child's hand was held out to him he hopped up on it. He called and talked and scolded. This scene was repeated the second day and the third day, which was the time I witnessed it. I heard later that it was necessary to keep Black Beauty in a cage until after school hours all that winter, so that Gerald and the other children might gain an education.

On the outskirts of an Indiana town I was invited to call at a country home to see a woodchuck that was hibernating in a barrel, which stood in an unheated shed. It had been a pet for several years, and each winter this same barrel had been prepared for its winter sleep. I found the little creature deeply buried in rolls of cotton and cloth. Its breathing was slow and measured. As I looked at it I got a good idea of how our woodchucks now in their underground homes would be carrying on their long sleep. I could handle this somnolent creature without disturbing its dreams in the least. It had a most peaceful expression, as if hibernating were one of the greatest experiences in life. Let the world have a winter if it wished. The little old woodchuck would slumber on, perhaps dreaming of infinite gardens of carrots, celery, turnip tops, beets, cantaloupes, and everything else that grows. This groundhog had been asleep two months when I saw it, and it still had at least three months of this supersnooze to go. His sides were rolling in fat, and there was no doubt that he had the reserve energy to carry out his program.

Once during an assembly of a junior high school I asked how many of the students had pet animals at home. Two thirds of the six hundred boys and girls present raised their hands. A few more questions from me brought out some amazing facts. One boy had a collection of twenty snakes in his basement. It was a source of hysteria for his mother and an annoyance to his father—but the snakes stayed on because when any idea of disposing of them was expressed the boy broke out in tears.

Another basement was equally monopolized by an accumulation of turtles, toads and frogs. Each one of the odd creatures had a name and each one was precious to the little girl who was their keeper.

Still another home had a guinea-pig problem. Two pairs had been purchased to begin with. These pairs had young ones, and those young ones had young, and so on and on. They kept multiplying and multiplying, but the boy who owned them didn't want to dispose of any of them. Where that story ended I do not know.

Dogs were the most popular pets, but there were many youngsters who had cats, birds, horses or ponies. One boy had a pet red fox, another an opossum and still another a four-foot alligator!

Is there kindness in the world, you ask? Yes, there is. Every pet story I heard that day was a biography of kindness and love. Look down under the surface of this life and you will find how good is the world and how naturally fine are the people in it.

About this time there was a note from Hi-Bub. He would never take any prizes for his penmanship. His lines ran hither and yon as if they were following a chipmunk.

Between us, however, Giny and I managed to decipher it. Everything was going pretty well with him. He did get zero in arithmetic one day. It was Old Charley's fault, he said. There was no mention of Little John Deer Foot. We were disappointed for we didn't want to lose the Indian boy. Possibly it wasn't exactly right to mention such 'maginaries in writing, we figured. Besides, there was a very exciting bit of news which probably was the most important thing in Hi-Bub's thoughts at the moment. He had a dog ! That was in addition to the three cats and one rabbit he had already brought in. "Mom says she is afraid to see me coming home from school because she doesn't know what I'll bring next," the letter said. The dog's name was Hobo. No one knew where he came from. He just appeared one day running down the railroad tracks. "I guess he isn't very pretty," wrote Hi-Bub. "Mom says he isn't. His tail curls and Daddy says it's so the fleas can loop the loop." It wasn't hard for us to picture Hobo as the sort of a saucy little mongrel just designed for Hi-Bub. "Mom asks me please don't bring anything else home," his letter concluded. Then after his shaky signature we read: "P.S. I hope I don't."