A Day with the Grouse. 121 



noisily along through the windrows of 

 dead leaves in the path. High up on the 

 hill-tops the sun was just beginning to 

 mingle with the few brilliant leaves that 

 still clung to the maples, and down in 

 the valley a line of haze above the dark 

 pines marked the course of the stream 

 that had been so interesting to us in the 

 trout season. It was a rough climb 

 through the woods to the upper grounds 

 where we intended to hunt, and the air 

 was provocative of such energetic move- 

 ments that we were in a glow when the 

 high levels and the morning sunshine were 

 reached. Away to the right of us stretched 

 a series of beech and chestnut ridges, with 

 many acres of thick pines and hemlocks, 

 while the edges of the woodland were 

 lined with brush-lots of young poplars, 

 birches, sumacs, and witch hazel ; patches 

 of reddish buckwheat stubble here and 

 there adjoined the saplings. To the 

 hunter's eye buckwheat stubble is the 

 finishing touch of beauty in a landscape. 

 Festoons of grape-vines hung from the 

 hornbeams in the gullies, and the ground 



