shyness--the shyness of all wild things toward the creatures who have
come under man's care--she returned the compliment of adopting the calf.

"After a little, when the calf had satisfied its appetite, she led it
away through the trees. It followed readily enough for a while--for
perhaps half a mile. Then it got tired, and stopped with its legs
sprawled apart, and bawled after her appealingly. At first she seemed
surprised at its tiring so soon. But with a resigned air she stopped.
The calf at once lay down and resolutely went to sleep. Its wild
mother, puzzled but patient, stood over it protectingly, licking its
silky coat (so much softer than her own little one's had been), and
smelling it all over as if unable to get used to the peculiar scent.
When it woke up she led it on again, this time for perhaps a good mile
before it began to protest against such incomprehensible activity. And
so, by easy stages and with many stops, she led the little alien on,
deep into her secret woods, and brought it, about sunset, to the shore
of a tiny secluded lake.

"That same evening the farmer, looking for his strayed cow, came upon
the dead body on the slope above the stream. He saw the marks of the
fight and the tracks of the bear, and understood the story in part.
But he took it for granted that the bear, after killing the mother, had
completed the job by carrying off the calf. The tracks of the moose he
paid no attention to, never dreaming that they concerned him in the
least. But the bear he followed, vowing vengeance, till he lost the
trail in the gathering dusk, and had to turn home in a rage, consoling
himself with plans for bear traps.

"In her home by the lake, caressed and tenderly cared for by her tall
new mother, the calf quickly forgot her real mother's fate. She forgot