CLIMBING BEAR MOUNTAIN IN THE 
SNOW. 
Monday , December 21. The moon ate up 
the clouds during the night, and at dawn the 
only remnants of what the evening before had 
looked like a storm were the cloud-caps upon 
Tripyramid and Kancamagus, and a band of 
mist across Church’s Pond at the western end 
of the intervale. We were dressing about 
seven o’clock when our host came to our door, 
saying, “ If you want to see a fox, come 
quickly.” I ran into the east room and caught 
a last glimpse of Reynard trotting briskly over 
the snow towards the rising sun. He seemed 
to be following a scent which went in a some¬ 
what wavy line across the field. At eight 
o’clock, just as we were striding up the road to 
pay a visit to the crossbills, a wild cry rang 
from the forest and echoed from end to end of 
the valley. It was the voice of the timber-eater, 
coming northward by his tortuous path from 
Upper Bartlett, and calling for his day’s food. 
The men at the lumber cars near our house 
bustled a little, and then started down the track 
