LETTER XIX. 215 



LETTER XIX. 



London. 



DEAR PAT, 



You ask me for the story of those great 

 ungainly antlers which you saw cumbering my 

 little London house. They were moose-heads, 

 my boy ; antlers which I obtained at No-matter- 

 where last autumn, when my wife was camping 

 with me. 



You must come with me in fancy to the rough 

 log-hut, amongst the pines, and imagine that it is 

 early morning on the last day but one of my 

 stay in the forest. We have been in nearly a 

 week, and until now, for nine days in fact, the 

 thin carpet of snow in the forest has remained 

 unchanged. It was written all over with records 

 of the wanderings of the tall red deer, but during 

 all those days the snow has been crisp and hard, 

 the air dry, and the skies bright. 



Every footfall, however light the moccasined 

 foot which made it, crackled noisily among crisply 



