emerged at once from her hiding, breasted down the rail fence with a crash, and over its ruins strode into the inclosure.
The calf was too young and unsophisticated to be afraid. He was startled, to be sure, by the great black form approaching him so swiftly, but there was no misunderstanding the sounds—hoarse but tender—proceeding from its shaggy throat. It was the same voice, which, heard from far off, had so aroused his hopes. Somewhat doubtfully he allowed himself to be muzzled by the tall, velvet-nosed stranger; but when, with a gesture quite unmistakable, she turned her flank to him coaxingly, his hesitation vanished on the instant, and he greedily began to nurse.
Comforted, but ever vigilant, the moose stood for some minutes, alternately eying her new baby and scanning the barn and the clearing. Then, uneasy in that perilous neighbourhood, she firmly withdrew herself from the calf's eager attentions and moved off towards the gap in the fence, muttering a gentle summons for the youngster to follow. And follow he did, at once, ambling close at her side, desperately afraid lest he should lose her. Presently the curiously assorted pair vanished into the dark green mazes of the fir woods.
It chanced that the owner of the little farm at the mouth of the Wassis was a newcomer to the backwoods. Not an experienced woodsman, not
