and of a Saturday-afternoon tramp together. 



Twenty times, he told me, he had tried to 



snare the old beech partridge. When he saw 



the otter slide he forswore traps and snares 3^eO/"Beech 



for birds ; and I left soon after, with hopes for ■T'ofrid^G 



the grouse, knowing that I had spiked the 



guns of his most dangerous enemy. 



Years later I crossed the old pasture again 

 and went straight to the bullbrier tangle. 

 There were tracks of a grouse in the snow, 



— blunt, triangular tracks that rested lightly 

 on the soft whiteness ; showing that nature 

 remembered his necessity and had caused his 

 new snowshoes to grow famously. I hurried 

 to the brook, a hundred memories thronging 

 over me of happy days when the wood folk 

 revealed their secrets. In the midst of them 



— Kwit ! kwit ! and with a thunder of wings 

 a grouse darted away, wild and gray as the 

 rare bird that lived there years before. And 

 when I questioned a hunter, he said : " That 

 ol' beech pa'tridge ? Oh, yes, he 's there. He '11 

 stay there, too, till he dies of old age ; 'cause 

 you see. Mister, there ain't nobody in these 

 parts spry enough to ketch 'im." 



