90 THE MOOSE 



spectrally behind the pines, wreathing its trans- 

 parencies over the river, clinging to the young 

 deer's coat like dew. 



Myriads of tiny red spiders were entangled in 

 the moisture, and all the atmosphere was thick 

 with the venturesome little aeronauts, hanging 

 apparently from fragile single threads beginning 

 and ending Heaven knows where, all intermixed 

 with each other's films of silk. 



Some of the minute spiders sailed away on their 

 silken wires like woodland fairies, other enterprising 

 spirits investigated the moose thoroughly, running 

 about his back, over his quarters, and then on the 

 endless threads down his legs to the ground. Even 

 then they did not settle, but skimmed over the 

 surface of the grass lightly until the gossamer fila- 

 ments took them high in the air again. 



The wonders of the Northern forest are count- 

 less, but there is a chill solemnity about them which 

 is absent from the woods of sunnier countries. 

 Skeletons of trees decayed to the heart, holding 

 out dead limbs to the sky, turn the deep tangles to 

 a charnel-house. Everlasting dead trees adumbrate 

 the spirits ; it becomes depressing to be perpetually 

 overshadowed by the presence of death. 



