The little ones were pushed out into the middle, away from the mothers to whom they clung instinctively, and were left to get acquainted with each other, which they did very shyly at first, like so many strange children.  It was all new and curious, this meeting of their kind; for till now they had lived in dense solitudes, each one knowing no living creature save its own mother.  Some were timid, and backed away as far as possible into the shadow, looking with wild, wide eyes from one to another of the little caribou, and bolting to their mothers’ sides at every unusual movement.  Others were bold, and took to butting at the first encounter.  But careful, kindly eyes watched over them.  Now and then a mother caribou would come from the shadows and push a little one gently from his retreat under a bush out into the company.  Another would push her way between two heads that lowered at each other threateningly, and say with a warning shake of her head that butting was no good way to get along together.  I had once thought, watching a herd on the barrens through my glasses, that they are the gentlest of animals with each other.  Here in the little school in the heart of the swamp I found the explanation of things.

For over an hour I lay there and watched, my curiosity growing more eager every moment; for most of what I saw I could not comprehend, having no key, nor understanding why certain youngsters, who needed reproof according to my standards, were let alone, and others kept moving constantly, and still others led aside often to be talked to by their mothers.  But at last came a lesson in which all joined, and which could not be misunderstood, not even by a man.  It was the jumping lesson.

Caribou are naturally poor jumpers.  Beside a deer, who often goes out of his way to jump a fallen tree just for the fun of it, they have no show whatever; though they can travel much farther in a day and much easier.  Their gait is a swinging trot, from which it is impossible to jump; and if you frighten them out of their trot into a gallop and keep them at it, they soon grow exhausted.  Countless generations on the northern wastes, where there is no need of jumping, have bred this habit, and modified their muscles accordingly.  But now a race of caribou has moved south into the woods, where great trees lie fallen across the way, and where, if Megaleep is in a hurry or there is anybody behind him, jumping is a necessity.  Still he doesn’t like it, and avoids it whenever possible.  The little ones, left to themselves, would always crawl under a tree, or trot round it.  And this is another thing to overcome, and another lesson to be taught in the caribou school.