FOLLOWING 
THE DEER^ 
bare branches, and the ground-spruce 
nodded briskly, beating time with ^^^^^ - 
their green tips, as if glad of any ^^^j^p 
sound or music that would break 
the chill silence until the birds came 
back. 
Here and there the snow told 
-stories — gay stories, tragic stories, 
sad, wandering, patient stories — of 
the little woods-people, which the 
frost had hardened into crust, as if 
Nature would keep their memorials 
forever, like the records on the sun- 
hardened bricks of Babylon. But 
would the deer live? Would the 
big buck's cunning provide a yard 
large enough for wide wandering, with 
plenty of browse along the paths to 
