

AMONG THE HILLS. 37 



squirrels play overhead, leaping and swinging from 

 branch to branch. Look at that harmony of colour 

 displayed where one sits with a fir cone in his hands. 

 His bushy tail is set up with just a small light tip to 

 it ; like his back and sides and limbs, it has a warm 

 reddish-cinnamon tint : and with his bright black 

 eyes and creamy white chest, you have a terra-cotta 

 study brought out and harmonised to perfection by 

 the olive-green of the fir foliage. In spring-time the 

 squirrel's fur is different from what it is in winter. 



As I near the sloping part of the wood a sound 

 comes up from the opposite side of the glade, causing 

 me to stand quite quiet. It is the call of the black- 

 cock at play. Creeping to the edge of the wood 

 from tree to tree, I look out, and there is a sight 

 which you might hunt long for and not see. Right 

 in front, and below the spot where I am concealed, 

 on a platform consisting of felled fir-trunks not yet 

 carted off, struts a Black Prince in the bright sun- 

 light, on a portion of the trunks where the bark has 

 been stripped off. He is showing himself in full 

 dress suit to the ladies of his feather, who stand 

 looking at him from the green turf of the moor. His 

 head bent low, feathers puffed out, tail bent over his 



