The Moose 249 



front sight still glimmered indistinctly. Streaks of 

 cold red showed that the sun would soon rise. 



Before leaving the shelter of the last spruces I 

 halted to listen; and almost immediately heard a 

 curious splashing sound from the middle of the 

 meadow, where the brook broadened into small 

 willow-bordered pools. I knew at once that a moose 

 was in one of these pools, wading about and pulling 

 up the water lilies by seizing their slippery stems in 

 his lips, plunging his head deep under water to do 

 so. The moose love to feed in this way in the hot 

 months, when they spend all the time they can in 

 the water, feeding or lying down ; nor do they alto- 

 gether abandon the habit even when the weather is 

 so cold that icicles form in their shaggy. coats. 



Crouching, I stole noiselessly along the edge of 

 the willow-thicket. The stream twisted through it 

 from side to side in zigzags, so that every few rods 

 I got a glimpse down a lane of black water. In a 

 minute I heard a slight splashing near me; and on 

 passing the next point of bushes, I saw the shad- 

 owy outline of the moose's hindquarters, standing 

 in a bend of the water. In a moment he walked 

 onward, disappearing. I ran forward a couple of 

 rods, and then turned in among the willows, to 

 reach the brook where it again bent back toward 

 me. The splashing in the water, and the rust- 

 ling of the moose's body against the frozen twigs, 

 drowned the noise made by my moccasined feet. 



