“THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE” 39 
Swiftfoot slunk cautiously into the blueberry 
bushes on the farther shore, and lay down to await 
the coming of darkness. He had got to have one 
of those geese! He was hungry, and the thought 
of them, beside, filled him with memories. All 
day he lay in his cover, growing hungrier and 
colder, yet not daring to sleep with more than 
half an eye, for he was aware of the men creatures 
around him. At last, as the sun set behind the 
low evergreens to the west, and twilight stole 
down through the gray beeches above the goose 
pen, he saw one, two, three men come from dif- 
ferent directions, and move over the ridge toward 
the thin wood smoke that curled up in the still, 
cold air like the wraith of a twisted column. He 
waited five mmutes more. No other men crea- 
tures appeared. He smelled none. The ice on 
the pond, covered with a light snow powder, 
gleamed white. A big gander was walking out 
over it, behind the wire. Swiftfoot rose, circled 
the pond swiftly, but keeping well to cover, and 
came silently down through the gray beech grove, 
himself the color of the beech trunks, and ghostly 
in the twilight. 
