!rHE KUFFED GROUSE. 169 



of the day. One of my companions asked him why the 

 buck assailed him. 



" Because I didn't sing," was the grave reply. 



"What has singing to do with the attack?" 



"Everything; for I notice that whenever I forget to 

 sing ' I'm a Pilgrim ' the bucks try to kill me." 



" They must be very musical deer in this place." 



"Yes; they're about as musical as people who ask 

 silly questions are sensible. Now, how on earth could I 

 tell you what made that buck pitch into me, unless it 

 was that he was too mean to live?" 



" Got your mad up, eh? " 



" Well, maybe you'd be good-natured if you had to go 

 through these woods and briars like a half-dressed High- 

 lander. You may think it very funny, but I don't. Cold 

 winds and sharp brambles don't agree with my legSc" 



The serious tone in which this was uttered produced 

 several fits of cachination, and when they were over, we 

 cached the deer, and started off in quest of more adven- 

 tures. The first thing m the form of game I saw was a 

 young ruffed male grouse, which was parading up and 

 down a log and drumming at intervals. While earnestly 

 watching him I made a movement which caused the 

 leaves to rustle, and this attracted his attention in a mo- 

 ment. Standing as still as a statue, he looked directly 

 at me for several seconds, and when he had satisfied his 

 curiosity he gave a loud cluck, and with a startling 

 whirr, which seemed all the louder on account of the 

 solemn silence of the forest, he darted away; but his Joy 

 was brief, " for he felt the fiery wound, fluttered in blood 

 and panting beat the ground," and was in my bag a mo- 

 ment later. 1 had hardly picked him up before an old male 

 sprung from the ground with a loud whirr, and went 

 sailing through the trees at a rate of speed that made 

 me think he was bound for China and wanted to get 

 there in two minutes. I looked disappointed at missing 

 8 



