AMONG THE FOOTHILLS 33 



ploughed ground. The wind blew fur- 

 iously, taking one nearly off one's feet, 

 and, catching the buntings as soon as they 

 took wing, swept them like snowflakes 

 before us. 



In the afternoon we again set out, this 

 time toward the eastward and along the 

 main road, but we met no birds of any 

 kind. On the shores of a pond at the 

 foot of Crow's Nest Mountain, great 

 clumps of pitcher plants were growing, 

 their tubular leaves filled to the brim with 

 ice-cold water. One must go into the 

 deep woods and follow the lumber-roads 

 to find bird life in the winter season. 

 During the morning we heard and saw 

 many red squirrels, but the grays were 

 entirely absent. 



After we returned, sitting at my window 

 I looked over the valley toward the south, 

 across the Androscoggin from whose op- 

 posite banks rose the foothills of Mount 

 Moriah. Olivet was in the foreground and 

 Mount Moriah itself towered 4500 feet 

 above and behind it, while fifteen miles 

 to the southwest the base of Mount 

 Madison and at intervals its peak, the 

 sharpest within view, and that of Mount 

 3 



