I had thought possible.
There was not an instant's hesitation or searching. Her eyes went direct
to me, as if the fawn's cry had said: "Behind you, mother, in the path
by the second gray rock!" Then she jumped away, shooting up the opposite
hill over roots and rocks as if thrown by steel springs, blowing
hoarsely at every jump, and followed in splendid style by her watchful
little one.

At the first snort of danger there was a rush in the underbrush near
where she had stood, and a second fawn sprang into sight. I knew him
instantly--the heedless one--and knew also that he had neglected too
long the matter of following the flag. He was confused, frightened,
chuckle-headed now; he came darting up the deer path in the wrong
direction, straight towards me, to within two jumps, before he noticed
the man kneeling in the path before him and watching him quietly.

At the startling discovery he stopped short, seeming to shrink smaller
and smaller before my eyes. Then he edged sidewise to a great stump, hid
himself among the roots, and stood stock-still,--a beautiful picture of
innocence and curiosity, framed in the rough brown roots of the spruce
stump. It was his first teaching, to hide and be still. Just as he
needed it most, he had forgotten absolutely the second lesson.

We watched each other full five minutes without moving an eyelash. Then
his first lesson ebbed away. He sidled out into the path again, came
towards me two dainty, halting steps, and stamped prettily with his left
fore foot. He was a young buck, and had that trick of stamping without
any instruction. It is an old, old ruse to make you move, to startle you
by the sound and threatening motion into showing who you are and what
are your intentions.

But still the man did not move; the fawn grew frightened at his own
boldness and ran away down the path. Far up the opposite hill I heard
the mother calling him. But he heeded not; he wanted to find out things
for himself. There he was in the path again, watching me. I took out my
handkerchief and waved it gently; at which great marvel he trotted back,
stopping anon to look and stamp his little foot, to show me that he was
not afraid.

"Brave little chap, I like you," I thought, my heart going out to him as
he stood there with his soft eyes and beautiful face, stamping his
little foot. "But what," my thoughts went on, "had happened to you ere
now, had a bear or lucivee lifted his head over the ridge? Next month,