Through a Forest 135 



hidden in the foliage. The songs of all other noted 

 singers are thoughtless triviality compared with 

 that of this yearning and yet wonderfully artistic 

 sprite of the northern woods. In form he is grace- 

 ful, in color a light bluish gray, with a round spot 

 of pure white about as large as a dime, on the 

 throat. 



I heard fawns bleating in a jack-pine thicket one 

 of the few hot afternoons that we had in July, and 

 the next day took Georgie, hoping to drive one of 

 them into a lake and capture it for a pet, but the 

 cunning little fellows lay close, and we were not able 

 to start them out, or find them. 



On our way home we came to a deep, shady 

 basin with a plot of grass in it, saw a large, fresh 

 bear trail with water splashed upon the grass, show- 

 ing that a bear had just run out from wallowing in 

 the water. Then the white muzzles of two cubs 

 came up out of the grass, and we both started for 

 them, Georgie taking one and I one, for a chase. 

 We shouted at our best, trying to frighten them 

 into climbing trees. I gained on mine and expected 

 him to stop and get up and fight, but he got into a 

 boggy thicket and was gone. Georgie had on shoes 

 and so was at a disadvantage. When the chase 

 was over, Georgie bewailed the loss. "It is too 

 bad, too bad," said he, with a rueful face. "We 

 could 'a' got twenty-five dollars for them." Then 

 I asked if we had caught one, what the old bear, 

 who was chucking and snorting on the hill above, 



