with interest, but made no motion for another shot, for it was against
the New Brunswick law to kill a cow moose, and if the farmer had
indulged himself in such a luxury it would have cost him a hundred
pounds by way of a fine.

"Among the fleeing herd appeared a little fawn-colored beast, utterly
unlike any moose calf that the farmer or his man had ever heard of. It
was tremendously nimble at first, bouncing along at such a rate that it
was impossible to get a really good look at it. But its legs were much
too short for such a depth of snow, and before it had gone fifty yards
it was quite used up. It stopped, floundered on another couple of
yards, and then lay down quite helplessly. The two men hurried up. It
turned upon them a pair of large, melting, velvet eyes--frightened,
indeed, but not with that hopeless, desperate terror that comes to the
eyes of the wild creatures when they are trapped.

"'Well, I'll be jiggered if that ain't old Blossom's calf that we made
sure the bear had carried off!' cried the farmer, striding up and
gently patting the calf's ribs. 'My, but you're poor!' he went on.
'They hain't used yer right out here in the woods, have they? I reckon
ye'll be a sight happier back home in the old barn.'"

Uncle Andy knocked the ashes out of his pipe and stuck it back in his
pocket.

"That's all!" said he, seeing that the Child still looked expectant.

"But," protested the Child, "I want to know--"

"Now, you know very well all the rest," said Uncle Andy. "What's the