stling close against me, when a twig snapped faintly
far behind us.

Now, twig snapping is the great index to all that passes in the
wilderness. Curiously enough, no two animals can break even a twig under
their feet and give the same warning. The _crack_ under a bear's foot,
except when he is stalking his game, is heavy and heedless. The hoof of
a moose crushes a twig, and chokes the sound of it before it can tell
its message fairly. When a twig speaks under a deer in his passage
through the woods, the sound is sharp, dainty, alert. It suggests the
_plop_ of a raindrop into the lake. And the sound behind us now could
not be mistaken. The mother of my little innocents was coming.

I hated to frighten her, and through her to destroy their new
confidence; so I hurried back to the den, the little ones running close
by my side. Ere I was halfway, a twig snapped sharply again; there was a
swift rustle in the underbrush, and a doe sprang out with a low bleat as
she saw the home log.

At sight of me she stopped short, trembling violently, her ears pointing
forward like two accusing fingers, an awful fear in her soft eyes as she
saw her little ones with her archenemy between them, his hands resting
on their innocent necks. Her body swayed away, every muscle tense for
the jump; but her feet seemed rooted to the spot. Slowly she swayed back
to her balance, her eyes holding mine; then away again as the danger
scent poured into her nose. But still the feet stayed. She could not
move; could not believe. Then, as I waited quietly and tried to make my
eyes say all sorts of friendly things, the harsh, throaty _K-a-a-a-h!
k-a-a-a-h!_ the danger cry of the deer, burst like a trumpet blast
through the woods, and she leaped back to cover.

At the sound the little ones jumped as if stung, and plunged into the
brush in the opposite direction. But the strange place frightened them;
the hoarse cry that went crashing through the startled woods filled them
with nameless dread. In a moment they were back again, nestling close
against me, growing quiet as the hands stroked their sides without
tremor or hurry.

Around us, out of sight, ran the fear-haunted mother, calling, calling;
now showing her head, with the terror deep in her eyes; now dashing
away, with her white flag up, to show her little ones the way they must
take. But the fawns gave no heed after the first alarm. They felt the
change; their ears were twitching nervously, and their e