This was the lesson that the great woods whispered sadly when a
few idle March days found me gliding on snowshoes over the old
familiar ground. Wild geese had honked an invitation from the
South Shore; but one can never study a wild goose; the only
satisfaction is to see him swing in on broad wings over the
decoys--one glorious moment ere the gun speaks and the dog jumps
and everything is spoiled. So I left gun and rifle behind, and
went off to the woods of happy memories to see how my deer were
faring.

The wonder of the snow was gone; there was left only its cold
bitterness and a vague sense that it ought no longer to cumber
the ground, but would better go away as soon as possible and
spare the wood folk any more suffering. The litter of a score of
storms covered its soiled rough surface; every shred of bark had
left its dark stain where the decaying sap had melted and spread
in the midday sun. The hard crust, which made such excellent
running for my snowshoes, seemed bitterly cruel when I thought of
the starving wild things and of the abundance of food on the
brown earth, just four feet below their hungry bills and noses.

The winter bad been unusually severe. Reports had come to me from
the North Woods of deep snows, and of deer dying of starvation
and cold in their yards. I confess that I was anxious as I
hurried along. Now that the hunt was over and the deer had won,
they belonged to me more than ever more even than if the stuffed
head of the buck looked down on my hall, instead of resting
proudly over his own strong shoulders. My snowshoes clicked a
rapid march through the sad gray woods, while the March wind
thrummed an accompaniment high up among the bare branches, and