The Boy and the Lynx 
He never again saw tiem, but he saw the 
mother once—he thought it was the same— 
she was searching the woods with her nose, try- 
ing the ground for trails; she was nervous and 
anxious, evidently seeking. Thor remembered 
a trick that Corney had told him. He gently 
stooped, took up a broad blade of grass, laid it 
between the edges of his thumbs, then blowing 
through this simple squeaker he made a short, 
shrill bleat, a fair imitation of a Fawn’s cry for 
the mother, and the Deer, though a long way 
off, came bounding toward him. He snatched 
his gun, meaning to kill her, but the movement 
caught her eye. She stopped. Her mane 
bristled a little; she sniffed and looked inquir- 
ingly at him. Her big soft eyes touched his 
heart, held back his hand; she took a cautious 
step nearer, got a full whiff of her mortal enemy, 
bounded behind a big tree and away before his 
merciful impulse was gone. “Poor thing,” 
said Thor, ‘‘I believe she has lost her little 
one.” 
Yet once more the Boy met a Lynx in the 
woods. Half an hour after seeing the lonely 
Deer he crossed the long ridge that lay some 
186 
