“They are two does with their fawns, I think,” he said.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” I told him.  “One of them has antlers, but not very large ones.”

“Very true,” he replied, “but the caribou does, alone in the whole deer family, frequently have them.  They are never as large as with the stags.”

“I can see them feeding along quietly, with their noses on the ground, and sometimes they look up, and now one of them is scratching her ear with her hind foot.  It is the prettiest thing I ever saw.  Now they are going on again, slowly.  You are not going to try and kill them, are you?”

“A starving man may shoot anything for food,” he answered, “but we must look for something we would not be ashamed to kill.”

So they lifted up their packs again, and we resumed our journey, until hunger compelled us to stop near one of the little wooded islands growing out of the silvery barren.  Near at hand a tiny rivulet was tinkling, from which the kettle was filled.  Sammy and Yves cut down some tamarack sticks while the doctor undid one of the packs and brought out a frying-pan and some tin cups and plates.  In a very few minutes the kettle was boiling and bacon frying with a pleasant sputtering.  There was bread and butter, and a jar of marmalade.

“Thus far I entirely approve of caribou hunting,” I declared.  “I have an idea that such a picnic as this must be the most delightful part of it.”

The wind was blowing briskly, and the trees swaying to its caress.  Moose-birds began to gather around us, calling out with voices ranging from the shrillest to deep raucous cries, sometimes changing to imitations of other birds.  They became very tame at once, and hopped impudently among us, cocking up their saucy little heads and watching us.  Susie happened to put a little bacon on a piece of bread, beside her on the clean moss, the better to handle a very hot cup of tea, and one of the jays pounced upon it and dragged it away.

“Git out o’ there, ye imp!” she cried.  “Them birds would pick the nails offen yer boots if they was good ter eat.”

“They are ever so pretty,” I said.  “And oh! look at that poor little chap.  He hopped into the frying pan and scalded his toes.”

The indignant bird flew away, uttering perfectly disgraceful language, but the others seemed to be quite indifferent to his fate and remained, bent on securing every discarded crumb.

After this a flight of yellow-leg snipe passed by.  Dr. Grant began to whistle their soft triple note and the wisp of birds circled in the air, coming nearer and nearer until, becoming suspicious, they winged their journey away.  And then we were invaded by a troop of grosbeaks who gathered in the neighboring bushes, their queer, tiny voices, seeming quite out of place, coming out of such stocky, strong little bodies.  In the meanwhile a woodpecker was tap-tapping on a dead juniper.  It was all so very different