My First Summer 



covered ten feet deep. They must go down 

 towards the lower edge of the forest, like 

 the deer, though I have not heard of them 

 there. 



The blue, or dusky, grouse is also com- 

 mon here. They like the deepest and closest 

 fir woods, and when disturbed, burst from 

 the branches of the trees with a strong, 

 loud whir of wing-beats, and vanish in a 

 wavering, silent slide, without moving a 

 feather, a stout, beautiful bird about the 

 size of the prairie chicken of the old west, 

 spending most of the time in the trees, 

 excepting the breeding season, when it 

 keeps to the ground. The young are now 

 able to fly. When scattered by man or dog, 

 they keep still until the danger is supposed 

 to be past, then the mother calls them to- 

 gether. The chicks can hear the call a dis- 

 tance of several hundred yards, though it 

 is not loud. Should the young be unable 

 to fly, the mother feigns desperate lame- 

 ness or death to draw one away, throwing 

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