254 AT THE NORTH OF BE ARC AMR WATER . 
voice made itself heard. I knew it for some¬ 
thing different from a chickadee at once, and 
yet it was titmouse language. Squeaking vig¬ 
orously, I called the stranger down to me. At 
first I thought it was a chickadee; then he sput¬ 
tered out his “ dee-dee ” and showed his brownish 
head and great chestnut patch on his flank, and 
I knew he was from Hudson Bay. Three others 
joined him and gave me ample chance to inspect 
their points. I had the feeling that they had 
less character and spirit than our blackcap tit¬ 
mouse. Their voices were weaker and more 
petulant and their general appearance less posi¬ 
tive and aggressive. 
Once I caught a glimpse of a big white hare 
bounding away from us through a jungle of 
young spruces. He was so nearly the color of 
the snow that my eyes found it difficult to follow 
him. 
After going rather more than two miles 
through the spruce tangle, we entered an old 
logging road much used by rabbits, foxes, and 
grouse, and, following it northward, we made 
our way home. 
About 3.30 p. m. the baying of a hound at¬ 
tracted our notice, and I walked up the road to 
see what he was doing. He soon appeared at 
the edge of the spruce woods, and I followed 
him into their dark shades. After a moment’s 
