his caution, and roams about after stray 



mussels on the beach. In the spring hunger 



drives him into the ponds, where food is '"^^S^^^^ 



plenty, but where guns roar also, and boys (^^ AyL_ 



lurk in every bush. Altogether it is small 



wonder that, as soon as his instinct tells 



him the streams of the North are open and 



the trout running up, he is off to a land of 



happier memories. 



In summer he forgets his hardships. His 

 life is peaceful as a meadow brook. His 

 home is the wilderness — on a lonely lake, it 

 may be, shimmering under the summer sun, 

 or kissed into a thousand smiling ripples by 

 the south wind ; or perhaps it is a forest 

 river, winding on by wooded hills and grassy 

 points and lonely cedar swamps. In secret 

 shallow bays the young broods are plashing 

 about, learning to swim and dive and hide in 

 safety. The plunge of the fish-hawk comes 

 up from the pools. A noisy kingfisher rattles 

 about from tree to stump, like a restless 

 busybody. The hum of insects fills the 

 air with, a drowsy murmur. Now a deer 

 steps daintily down the point, and looks, and 



