A TASTE OF MAINE BIRCH. 129 



" Just the chance I had been looking for," he said, 

 " and my wits suddenly left me." 



As a hunter Uncle Nathan always took the game 

 on its own terms, that of still-hunting. He even shot 

 foxes in this way, going into the fields in the fall just 

 at break of day, and watching for them about their 

 mousing haunts. One morning, by these tactics, he 

 shot a black fox ; a fine specimen, he said, and a wild 

 one, for he stopped and looked and listened every few 

 yards. 



He had killed over two hundred moose, a large 

 number of them at night on the lakes. His method 

 was to go out in his canoe and conceal himself by 

 some point or island, and wait till he heard the game. 

 In the fall the moose comes into the water to eat the 

 large fibrous roots of the pond-lilies. He splashes 

 along till he finds a suitable spot, when he begins feed- 

 ing, sometimes thrusting his head and neck several 

 feet under water. The hunter listens, and when the 

 moose lifts his head and the rills of water run from 

 it, and he hears him " swash " the lily roots about to 

 get off the mud, it is his time to start. Silently as a 

 sjiadow he creeps up on the moose, who by the way, 

 it seems, never expects the approach of danger from 

 the water side. If the hunter accidentally makes a 

 noise the moose looks toward the shore for it. There 

 is always a slight gleam on the water, Uncle Nathan 

 says, even in the darkest night, and the dusky form 

 of the moose can be distinctly seen upon it. When 

 the hunter sees this darker shadow he lifts his gun to 



