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.