132 THE MOOSE 



There they lay on the snow, the shed crowns of 

 kings, and who heeded I 



Next time the deer passed over the place a white 

 pall had covered up the branching coronals, hiding 

 them utterly. 



The other event which marked out one winter's 

 day from monotonous likeness to another was the 

 death of the youngest of the little company. 



There he lay, apparently asleep, when the deer 

 rose to feed, with his charming head drooped, and 

 his long legs tucked under him. 



His mother stood over him calling softly on a 

 deep, low note — calling, calling. 



The wind blew the snow-dust high into the 

 upper air in whirling spirals, which hung awhile, 

 and then drifted away down the yards in ghostly 

 columns. From the depths of the forest came the 

 weird, hollow knocks, made, so the Indians tell you, 

 by unhappy frost-spirits imprisoned in the trees. 



And the calf slept on, frozen stiff. The night 

 had been the coldest of the winter, and Death, in 

 kindly fashion, had stricken the one of all the 

 moose less able to withstand the severe snap. 



For awhile the cow stood beside the carcass, 

 nosing it at intervals, unheeding that her com- 



