272 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER. 
giant hemlock, we called the birds. Two or 
three chickadees and two kinglets came to us, 
but they were subdued by the storm and shy 
about getting wet. Then we walked briskly 
homeward, the rain falling in earnest during the 
latter part of the way. A snowy fog rose from 
all parts of the valley, spreading most rapidly 
from the western end. The flat fields of snow 
vanished first; then the damp veil crept up the 
dark spruces and hid their tops; and finally 
mountain peak after mountain peak surrendered 
to the rising tide, and we were left alone in the 
dense fog with only a narrow circle of steam¬ 
ing snow around us. As the day wore on, rain 
fell faster and harder, the wind rose, it grew 
colder, and the blackness of the winter night 
would have been terrible but for the peace and 
comfort within doors. On such a night the 
deer in their “yards” must shiver with the 
chilling dampness; the grouse must find the 
snow too wet to sleep in; and foxes and rabbits, 
if they leave their dens and forms at all, must 
regret the hunger which drives them out. 
Where are the crossbills and siskins ? I wish 
that I knew and could find them out, and take 
a friendly look at their ruffled feathers, their 
heads tucked under their wings, and perhaps 
dozens of their plump little bodies snuggled 
together in a dark, dry spruce. 
