ight wind even as man does. But now the
deer-flies were rife in the woods, and the rocky hillside nooks warm
enough for the nightly bivouac, so the woodland was deserted.

Probably the leader of a band of animals does not consciously pride
itself on leadership, yet has an uncomfortable sensation when not
followed. But there are times with all when solitude is sought. The
Varsimle' had been fat and well through the winter, yet now was
listless, and lingered with drooping head as the grazing herd moved
past her.

Sometimes she stood gazing blankly while the unchewed bunch of moss
hung from her mouth, then roused to go on to the front as before; but
the spells of vacant stare and the hankering to be alone grew stronger.
She turned downward to seek the birch woods, but the whole band turned
with her. She stood stock-still, with head down. They grazed and
grunted past, leaving her like a statue against the hillside. When all
had gone on, she slunk quietly away; walked a few steps, looked about,
made a pretense of grazing, snuffed the ground, looked after the herd,
and scanned the hills; then downward fared toward the sheltering woods.

Once as she peered over a bank she sighted another Simle', a doe
Reindeer, uneasily wandering by itself. But the Varsimle' wished not
for company. She did not know why, but she felt that she must hide away
somewhere.

She stood still until the other had passed on, then turned aside, and
went with faster steps and less wavering, till she came in view of
Utrovand, away down by the little stream that turns old Sveggum's
ribesten. Up above the dam she waded across the limpid stream, for
deep-laid and sure is the instinct of a wild animal to put running
water between itself and those it shuns. Then, on the farther bank, now
bare and slightly green, she turned, and passing in and out among the
twisted trunks, she left the noisy Vand-dam. On the higher ground
beyond she paused, looked this way and that, went on a little, but
returned; and here, completely shut in by softly painted rocks, and
birches wearing little springtime hangers, she seemed inclined to rest;
yet not to rest, for she stood uneasily this way and that, driving away
the flies that settled on her legs, heeding not at all the growing
grass, and thinking she was hid from all the world.

But nothing escapes the Fossekal. He had seen her leave the herd, and
now he sat on a gorgeous rock that overhung, and sang as though he had
waite