dark background and stood forth in the
moonlight, alarmingly close.

[Illustration: The Hermit took the one chance that presented itself.]

The Hermit caught his breath. It was without doubt the big moose, and
that he was in no gentle mood was soon apparent. He listened a moment,
motionless as the trees at his back; then he brought forth a harsh roar
that sent a chill to the heart of the unprotected man. When he had come
to the pasture to try his trumpet, the Hermit had little expected an
answer, or at best had hoped merely to call up a cow moose. Instead, he
found himself confronted by the biggest bull moose he had ever seen.
Though his heart thrilled at sight of the great head and antlers, he
wished ardently that there might have been some stronger protection than
the frail fence between them.

Absolute immovability was his only hope and, like Molly Cottontail, he
"froze." Incensed at the silence where he had expected to find either a
mate or a rival, the big moose began to grumble deep in his throat and
to shake his antlers threateningly. Then he advanced a few steps.
Perspiration stood out upon the face of the Hermit, but he made no
movement. The moonlight was deceptive and the beast did not see the man
until he was uncomfortably close. Then a great bellow of rage burst from
him. At the same moment the Hermit took the one chance that presented
itself and dropped on the opposite side of the fence. The charge of the
big moose smashed the slight barrier as if it had been straw, but it
gave the man the chance he desired. He sprinted as he never had
sprinted before to a wild cherry tree which stood in an angle of the
fence. With an agility which he would not have believed possible, he
drew himself into its branches just as the moose reached the spot. There
the Hermit sat panting while the animal raged underneath, trying vainly
to spear his enemy with the bayonet-sharp points of his antlers.

Finding the man out of reach, the moose turned his attention to the
fence which he quickly reduced to kindling wood. The Hermit could only
watch the destruction of that which had taken days of labor. He used
vigorously the only weapon which he possessed, his tongue, but the big
moose cared nothing for the sound of the human voice raised in
protestation. Having vented his rage upon the hapless fence, he took up
his position beneath the tree, rumbling threateningly and tearing up the
ground with his sharp hoofs, one blow of which w