80 THE MOOSE 



ment was of less importance. All things seemed 

 to sleep. No sound of bird or beast broke the 

 chill silence, nothing but the faint cracking of the 

 river ice as the thermometer rose ever so little. 

 When, at twenty degrees below zero, the moose 

 saw frost floating in the air, he thought for a wild, 

 foolish moment that some new type of bird had 

 come. As an airy filament settled on his rounded 

 nose he knew better. He was learning many 

 things. 



Around the corral a lynx track showed up one 

 morning, curiously large impressions which defined 

 the four toes clearly, crossed by the little fiirrow of 

 a belated squirrel. Coming together they merged 

 — merged until the squirrel trail ended. 



Sometimes at night the forked spears of the 

 Aurora glowed, contrasting its silver glory with the 

 inky blackness of the dimly outlined peaks. Some- 

 how its radiancy seemed part of the moose calf's 

 lost world. On generations of his kind the Polar 

 lights had shone through the centuries, spreading 

 wide in even arrow shafts, until in waves of flame 

 they died as suddenly as they had come. 



As the snow rose level with the " snake " fence, an 

 arrangement of easily moved rails which supports 



