134 FROiir SPRIXG TO FALL. 



avian home. Stretching far back, until it is lost 

 in the deep purple haze of the distance, lies a 

 vast belt of mighty pine-trees. This is only the 

 border of the great forest. What we call daytime 

 has gone, but there is no darkness, for the mid- 

 night sun lights up the whole scene with the richest 

 and softest rosy light, changing to a warm luminous 

 grey above. Rough swamp-ground stretches from 

 this belt of pines to the borders of a lake whose 

 clear depths reflect the shadows of the huge rock- 

 masses beyond. A call rings out from the top 

 of a dead pine; and there, perched on a lateral 

 snag, is the capercailzie with wings drooped and 

 tail spread out like a fan, calling loudly. But he 

 is soon interrupted. 



A large broad-winged bird swoops just over him, 

 and the wood-grouse stops calling, to dive with a 

 rush into the undergrowth, for well he knows this is 

 the eagle-owl, and it is on the hunt for himself. 



