50 MOOSWA 



&quot; Oh, yes ; there are Berries hereabouts, but 

 they re all hard and bitter. The white Dog 

 berries, and the pink Buffalo-berries, and the 

 Wolf-willow berries what are they ? Perhaps 

 not to be despised in this Year of Famine, for 

 they pucker up one s stomach until a Cub s ra 

 tion fills it ; but the Saskatoons are now dry on 

 the Bush, and I miss them sorely. Gluck ! 

 they re the berries full of oil, not vinegar ; a 

 feed of them is like eating a little Sucking Pig.&quot; 



&quot; What s a Sucking Pig ? &quot; queried Lynx ; &quot; I 

 never saw one growing.&quot; 



&quot; I know,&quot; declared Carcajou. &quot; The Priest 

 over at Wapiscaw had six little white fellows 

 in a small corral. They had voices like Pallas, 

 the Black Eagle. I could always tell when they 

 were being fed, their wondrous song reached a 

 good three miles.&quot; 



&quot;That s where I got mine,&quot; remarked Muskwa, 

 looking cautiously about to see that there were no 

 eavesdroppers ; &quot; I had three, and the Priest 

 keeps three. But talking of food, one Summer 

 I crossed the great up-hills that Men call Rockies, 

 and along the rivers of that land grows just the 

 loveliest Berry any poor Bear ever ate.&quot; 



&quot; Saskatoons ? &quot; queried Carcajou. 



&quot; No, the Salmon Berry great, yellow, juicy 

 chaps, the size of Mooswa s nose.&quot; 



I 



