168 TRAPPING UP LITTLE OTTER 



ment of peeled sticks, the tooth-marks as distinct 

 as when first made, but crumbling to pieces after 

 brief exposure. 



Here, where the old company's throbbing ham- 

 mers incessantly shook the forest sixty years ago, 

 a roaring rapid compelled another toilsome carry, 

 happily the last awaiting us in these waters. Now 

 it was easy navigating the slow current. The 

 meadows on a level with our eyes were growing 

 green in the pleasant April weather that touched 

 us with the comfortable indolence of spring fever, 

 as it seemed to touch the crow lazily hunting grubs 

 on the broad intervale, and the blackbirds oozing 

 a gurgle of melody and discord from the elms 

 above us. 



A woodchuck waddling along the bank pros- 

 p)ecting for the earliest clover fools us into stalking 

 him for a muskrat until he takes alarm and scurries 

 into his burrow with a derisive whistle. We came 

 head to head above the banks of a bend with 

 a great blue heron that sprang to flight with a 

 startled croak, and frightened a pair of dusky 

 ducks, startling us in turn with sudden splash 

 and flutter, and taking new fright at the sight of 

 our boats. Doubtless the pair were in quest of a 

 secluded summer home where they might rear 

 their annual brood of ducklings in peace, and we 

 hoped our brief intrusion might not change their 

 plans, which gave promise of sport the coming fall. 



