SHOULD THE HuntTer Get Lost. 35 

cuts a suitable stick with a crotch or fork at the end, upon 
which he impales his grouse, salted and peppered, with a piece 
of pork hanging over it, then pushes the end of this stick 
obliquely into the ground, just right for his bird to come over 
the coals, and supports it by another forked stick in its centre. 
This soon fills the air with a most appetizing flavor. His tea 
coming to a boil, is set back a little. Soon his broiled par- 
tridge is being cooked and browned to aturn. His appetite 
by this time is fine, and though in the deep forest alone, he 
has had no chance or thought of being lonely, and makes a 
hearty supper; and then, as some would, for it adds to the 
cheeriness, he lights his pipe and with a real contented laugh, 
says: ‘*who’s lost?” The large gray owl sitting upon a 
dead branch just across the brook, startles him by immediate- 
ly answering: ‘* Whoo! ho-ho-o-o-o.” 
After a good smoke and a look around his cosy camp, he 
replenishes his fire, adding the large sticks, packs up the 
remains of his repast, takes his snow-shoes and a bunch of 
boughs for a pillow, wraps snug in his blanket, and is soon 
sleeping warm and comfortable. He has no wild animals to 
fear in the Aroostook wilds; they may tell their wild stories 
of being chased and only escaping by some lucky chance, but 
it somehow seems a mistake we think, the aaimals all run 
much too fast the other way. 
If in the night it snows, then warmer grows his camp. 
Should it rain and put out his fire during his sleep and he has 
provided nothing for a torch, he takes a small piece of pork 
an inch or so square and as long as his finger, makes a hole 
through the skin with the point of his knife to receive a cane- 
like stick sharpened at each end, for a handle, then splits the 
fat meat across the centre, half way down, again across the 
