CALLING THE MOOSE 31 



humor of Jupiter Pluvius. They seemed to fancy it 

 no more than do their enemies, the human bipeds. 



In my watching I observed some partridges hud- 

 dled under a big log, with feathers wet and all the 

 glory of their color and fluffy sleekness departed. 

 The cock bird looked woe-begone and cheap and 

 ragged — a dripping, melancholy shadow and I thought 

 of the poet's lament : 



*' Shades of the mighty can it be 

 That this is all remains of thee ? " 



Once I started a deer from out a clump of young 

 pines where he had been sheltering himself. Again, I 

 came across an old doe standing under a couple of big 

 cedar trees, and after she had " lit out " I stepped 

 into her arbor and sat down. Although the rain was 

 falling in streams, yet none fell on me and I spent there 

 a couple of happy hours watching the capers of the only 

 living things that had the courage to brave the storm 

 — the red squirrels. They were busily occupied in 

 laying up their winter stores, which seemingly were to 

 consist of pine cones, as each had one of these in his 

 mouth. I noticed they took good care to run along 

 the ground under the logs, and not on top of them. 



We took the weather philosophically, because we 

 were well prepared for it. We had plenty of dry 

 clothes, a big camp to shelter us, a roaring fire, an 

 abundance of the finest game in the world to eat, 

 clear, mineral-spring water to drink, good appetites, 



