But the next day when I came to the place, creeping along the
upper edge of the alders so as to make no noise, the pool was
clear and quiet, as if nothing but the little trout that hid
under the foam bubbles had ever disturbed its peace. Koskomenos
was clattering about the bay below as usual. Spite of my
precaution he had seen me enter the alders; but he gave me no
attention whatever. He went on with his fishing as if he knew
perfectly that the bear had deserted his bathing pool.

It was nearly a month before I again camped on the beautiful
lake. Summer was gone. All her warmth and more than her
fragrant beauty still lingered on forest and river; but the
drowsiness had gone from the atmosphere, and the haze had
crept into it. Here and there birches and maples flung out their
gorgeous banners of autumn over the silent water. A tingle came
into the evening air; the lake's breath lay heavy and white in
the twilight stillness; birds and beasts became suddenly changed
as they entered the brief period of sport and of full feeding.

I was drifting about a reedy bay (the same bay in which the
almost forgotten kingfisher had cheated me out of my bear, after
eating a minnow that my paddle had routed out for him) shooting
frogs for my table with a pocket rifle. How different it was
here, I reflected, from the woods about home. There the game was
already harried; the report of a gun set every living creature
skulking. Here the crack of my little rifle was no more heeded
than the plunge of a fish-hawk, or the groaning of a burdened elm
bough. A score of fat woodcock lay unheeding in that bit of alder
tangle yonder, the ground bored like a colander after their