Soon dear, familiar landmarks began to appear. They hailed with delight the form of old Mrs. Muskrat, grey and fat, sitting upon the bank scolding her children crossly through her whiskers. Their little friend, the water wag-tail bird, came tiptoeing in and out of the brook, searching every pebble for bugs, just as she always did day after day. She gave a droll little flirt, a sort of welcome, with her funny little tail as the Minnow Twins slid quickly by. The grey squirrels were chasing each other up and down the tree trunks merrily, and surely—yes, far up-stream, they caught sight of the old, familiar log, which lay just below the grass tussock, and right there Mrs. Spotted-Turtle and her family lay sunning themselves, ranged in a long line down the log. All the little turtles craned their scaly, spotted necks over the log as the minnows passed under, and one of the turtles which recognised the Twins flopped off the log in his excitement into deep water.
Quickly the Twins passed on and soon they arrived at the familiar bend where the white birch hung, dipping its silvery leaves into the brook. Two chubby, glistening minnows closely followed by a little bit of a slim baby minnow darted out to meet the homesick Twins. They were made welcome with rejoicing and much nose-rubbing right back into the bosom of the minnow family once more.
That night all the minnows rested quietly far down in the bottom of the brook just beneath the protection of a large flat stone. The whip-poor-wills came as they always did every evening to sing their lullaby songs on the top of the old rail fence near, and everything was peaceful and beautiful once more. If you tread very carefully and lightly through the long grasses bordering the brook and peer down into a certain nook perhaps you may be able to discover the entire minnow family some day. You may be sure of the very spot if you look for the old log, the grass tussock, and you may see some of the yellow-spotted turtle family sunning themselves, if you have good luck.
CHAPTER V
HOW PORCUPINE RIDGE WAS SETTLED
The remains of a large camp-fire smouldered, right in the heart of a forest of giant spruces far up in the North country. It had smouldered there sullenly all through a long, summer day, being left by the campers to die of its own accord. By this time they were far away, striking a new trail through the woods.
Night was coming on now. Down in the still, dark places, stealthy sounds, rustlings, and padded footsteps might be heard along wild trails, for with the coming of darkness the prowlers, who forage best at night, were beginning to stir abroad. Certain dark, shambling figures—one, two, three—came shuffling across a streak of moonlit forest. It was Moween, the little black mother bear and her two cubs. They had come down from their mountain den to hunt in the deep forest lowlands and swamps. Redbrush, the old fox, hit the trail in hot haste; he had scented wonderful game, perhaps a covey of plump, sleeping partridges. Impatiently he made a sudden, wide detour, even crossing a brook and wetting his feet, which he disliked, just to avoid meeting a cross old lynx whom he despised. Two cottontails, also scenting both fox and lynx, leaped high over the tops of the rank brakes and bounded off in another direction with long leaps, halting to lie flat, trembling and panting, staying there concealed until the dreaded ones had gone on. It happened that what the cottontails had imagined to be a lynx or Redbrush, the fox, was only Unk-Wunk, the porcupine, grubbing unconcernedly over the trail, grunting to himself monotonously his "unk-wunk, unk-wunk," rattling his quills softly as he crept leisurely in and out among the tall ferns, fearing neither man nor beast.
Occasionally he would halt to root, pig fashion, beneath some rotten log for grubs or wake-robin roots, for which he had a great desire. Then again he would stop, and standing upon his hind legs he would reach up and strip off the bark from some young, tender sapling with his sharp teeth. Not very far behind Unk-Wunk followed another porcupine, his mate. She was somewhat smaller in size and less aggressive and also, if possible, just a trifle more stupid-looking and droll than he. In fact, she would actually pass right by some really choice morsel which she wished keenly, just because it happened to be a little outside the range of her small, dull piggy eyes. So, often Unk-Wunk would stop to nose out food for her, for she usually depended upon him to locate the meals for both of them, and he seldom failed her.
To-night Unk-Wunk was very keen upon a new trail, but you would never have suspected it from his manner, because he never hurried. Still, if you knew him very well indeed, you might detect that his gait was rather more confident than usual, that in spite of his devious turnings aside, he always returned again to the same trail. All day the two porcupines had slept well in the round, deeply hollowed-out hole of a spruce tree, and between naps Unk-Wunk had watched with growing interest a thin, blue spiral of smoke as it filtered and wavered through the tops of the tall spruces far above. Upon several occasions the porcupine had seen similar trails of mysterious blue smoke, and whenever, out of sheer curiosity, he had followed the smoke to its lair, always had he been repaid for his long journey, because smoke usually meant a camp, and campers recklessly threw away much food, more especially bones, bacon rinds, and even, pieces of mouldy pork or ham.
So Unk-Wunk, the wise one, lifted his blunt muzzle from time to time and sniffed deeply of the faint, delicious odours which sudden winds blew in whiffs from the far-off camp. As soon as it commenced to grow dusky down below, Unk-Wunk grunted to his mate to follow, and together they started off upon their raids.