3© JVays of Wood Folk. 



sels on the beach. In the spring hunger drives him 

 into the ponds where food is plenty — but such food ! 

 In a week his flesh is so strong that a crow would 

 hardly eat it. 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 wilder- 

 ness — 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 busy- 

 body. The hum of insects fills the air with a drowsy 

 murmur. Now a deer steps daintily down the point, 

 and looks, and listens, and drinks. A great moose 

 wades awkwardly out to plunge his head under and 

 pull away at the lily roots. But the young brood 

 mind not these harmless things. Sometimes indeed, 

 as the afternoon wears away, they turn their little 

 heads apprehensively as the alders crash and swa}' on 

 the bank above; a low cluck from the mother bird 



