MOOSEWA'S DEATH 2^9 



far away it was. The murmur of an alien river 

 filled the air, as its waters slid gently over the 

 muddied shoals, and tossed to and fro the skeletons 

 of long-dead salmon. It was very peaceful, in- 

 finitely solemn and beautiful, but — not his own 

 place. But for this ill-omened journey his wound 

 had never been I 



The small sweet sounds of the forest people, so 

 soon to be stilled, never ceased. The chirr and 

 chirp and shrilling of insects, the whistle of the 

 woodpecker, the soft rustle of a sinuous chestnut 

 mink making his cautious way through the under- 

 brush, the ducks gathering for flight — the moose 

 loved them all. Mysterious siren tongues — he had 

 heard them from his baby days. 



The great transition was at hand. The chill, 

 fierce winter would soon hold the dells and dingles 

 in her icy grip, the face of Nature would frown 

 again, the raving of the tempest invest the wilder- 

 ness in cruelty. Would that he might be in his 

 own corner of the wild when the world-mother 

 took on once more the colours and the grace of 

 spring 1 



Like brown gnomes, the rabbits skipped from 

 hiding-places in the grass ; an otter slid from his 



