262 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



in what direction they lead. Along these paths, 

 where the scarlet partridge berry adds its mite of 

 briUiant colour to the rich though sombre shades 

 of the forest growth, the snowbird hops along, 

 uttering his tiny twit-twit, as he searches for food. 

 They are the haunts, too, of the red squirrel — that 

 ever busy, chattering, inquisitive little rascal who 

 thinks the woods belong to him and him alone. 

 He resents all intrusion and must needs examine 

 carefully all intruders and loudly tell his neigh- 

 bours just what he thinks of them. Here also 

 may be found the ruffed grouse or patvidge as he 

 is named here, a tame bird which offers no sport, 

 but is shot because in the way of food he is the 

 greatest luxury supplied by the Maine woods. 



On returning from one of my photographing 

 trips I had unfortunately left my camera in the 

 canoe while I went to prepare some lunch ; imagine 

 my feelings, when, as I lay on the ground watching 

 those impertinent thieves, the Canada jays — known 

 here as moosebirds or whisky Jacks — stealing the 

 scraps of meat from my deer, I w^as surprised by a 

 strange visitor. She came crashing through the 

 underbrush, halting only when she saw the column 

 of pale blue smoke that rose from my fire. Her 

 curiosity was aroused, and not seeing me, as I lay 

 motionless, she came nearer, within thirty or forty 

 feet. It was the first time I had ever been so close 

 to a cow moose. What a size she looked as she 

 stood there snorting and trying in vain, for there 

 was no wind, to scent the arch enemy to her kind. 

 After a few moments she trotted off down the 

 bank and past my canoe and camera. I ran and, 



