I approached my bicycle, earnestly hoping that the bear had been
attempting to ride it, but I found that he had been trying to do
something very different. He had torn the pneumatic tire from one of
the wheels, and nearly the whole of it was lying scattered about in
little bits upon the ground.

"How did this happen?" I said to the Italian, feeling very much
inclined to give him a dollar for the good offices of the beast.

The man began immediately to pour out an explanation upon me. His
English was as badly broken as the torn parts of my tire, but I had no
trouble in understanding. The bear had got loose in the night. He had
pulled up a little post to which he had been chained. The man had not
known it was such a weak post. The bear was never muzzled at night. He
had gone about looking for something to eat. He was very fond of
India-rubber--or, as the man called it, "Injer-rub." He always ate up
India-rubber shoes wherever he could find them. He would eat them off
a man's feet if the man should be asleep. He liked the taste of
Injer-rub. He did not swallow it. He dropped it all about in little
bits.

[Illustration: BUT WE WERE NOT ALONE]

Then the man sprang towards me and seized the injured wheel. "See!" he
exclaimed. "He eat your Injer-rub, but he no break your machine!"

This was very true. The wheel did not seem to be injured, but still I
could not travel without a tire. This was the most satisfactory
feature of the affair. If he and I had been alone together I would
have handed the man two dollars, and told him to go in peace with his
bear and give himself no more trouble.

But we were not alone. The stable-man who had lied to me about the
fishing was there; the boy who had lied to me about the reception of
cyclers was there; the lemon-faced woman was there, standing close to
Mrs. Chester; and there were two maids looking out of the window of
the kitchen.

"This is very bad indeed!" said Mrs. Chester, addressing the Italian.
"You have damaged this gentleman's wheel, and you must pay him for
it."

Now the Italian began to tear his hair. Never before had I seen any
one tear his hair. More than that, he shed tears, and declared he had
no money. After he had paid his bill he would not have a cent in the
world. His bear had ruined him. He was in despair.

"What are you going to do?" said Mrs. Chester to me. "You cannot use
your bicycle."

Before I could answer, the elderly woman exclaimed: "You ought to come
in, Mrs. Chester! This is no place for you! Suppose that beast should
break loose again! Let the gentleman settle it with the man."

I do not think my hostess wanted to go, but she accompanied her grim
companion into the house.

"I suppose there is no place near here where I can have a new tire put
on this wheel?" said I to the stable-man.

"Not nearer than Waterton," he replied; "but we could take you and
your machine there in a wagon."

"That's so," said the boy. "I'll drive."

I glared upon the two fellows as if they had been a couple of fiends
who were trying to put a drop of poison into my cup of joy. To be
dolefully driven to Waterton by that boy! What a picture! How
different from my picture!

The Italian sat down on the ground and embraced his knees with his
arms. He moaned and groaned, and declared over and over again that he
was ruined; that he had no money to pay.

In regard to him my mind was made up. I would forgive him his debt and
send him away with my blessing, even if I found no opportunity of
rewarding him for his great service to me.

I would go in and speak to Mrs. Chester about it. Of course it would
not be right to do anything without consulting her, and now I could
boldly tell her that it would suit me very well to stop at the inn
until my wheel could be sent away and repaired.

As I entered the large room the elderly woman came out. She was
plainly in a bad humor. Mrs. Chester was awaiting me with an anxious
countenance, evidently much more troubled about the damage to my
bicycle than I was. I hastened to relieve her mind.

"It does not matter a bit about the damage done by the bear," I said.
"I should not wonder if that wheel would be a great deal better for a
new tire, anyway. And, as for that doleful Italian, I do not want to
be hard on him, even if he has a little money in his pocket."

But my remarks did not relieve her, while my cheerful and contented
tones seemed to add to her anxiety.

"But you cannot travel," she said, "and there is no place about here
where you could get a new tire."

It was very plain that no one in this house entertained the idea that
it would be a good thing for me to rest here quietly until my bicycle
could be sent away and repaired. In fact, my first statement, that I
wished to stop but for the night, was accepted with general approval.

I did not deem it necessary to refer to the man's offer, to send me
and my machine to Waterton in a wagon, and I was just on the point of
boldly announcing that I was in no hurry whatever to get on, and that
it would suit me very well to wait here for a few days, when the boy
burst into the room, one end of his little neck-tie flying behind him.

"The Dago's put!" he shouted. "He's put off and gone!"

We looked at him in amazement.

"Gone!" I exclaimed. "Shall I go after him? Has he paid his bill?"

"No, you needn't do that," said the boy. "He cut across the fields
like a chipmunk--skipped right over the fences! You'd never ketch him,
and you needn't try! He's off for the station. I'll tell you all
about it," said the boy, turning to his mistress, who had been too
much startled to ask any questions. "When he went into the
house"--jerking his head in my direction--"I was left alone with the
Dago, and he begun to talk to me. He asked me a lot of things. He
rattled on so I couldn't understand half he said. He wanted to know
how much a tire cost; he wanted to know how much his bill would be,
and if he'd have to pay for the little post that was broke.

"Then he asked if I thought that if he'd promise to send you the money
would the gentleman let him go without payin' for the tire, and he
wanted to know what your name was; and when I told him you hadn't no
husband, and what your name was, he asked me to say it over again, and
then he made me say it once more--the whole of it; and while I was
tellin' him that I'd write it down for him if he wanted to send you
the money, he give a big jump and he stuck his head out like a bull.
He looked so queer that I was gettin' skeered; and then he says,
almost whisperin': 'I go! I go away! I leave my bear! If she sell him,
that pay everything! I come back no more--never! never!'

"I saw he was goin' to scoot, and I made a grab at him, but he give me
a push that nearly tore my collar off, and away he went. You never see
anybody run like he run. He was out of sight in no time."

"And he left his bear!" she exclaimed, in horror. "What on earth am I
to do with a bear?" She looked at me, and in spite of her annoyance
and perplexity she could not help joining me when I laughed outright.




CHAPTER VIII

ORSO


Mrs. Chester and I hurried back to the yard. There was the bear,
sitting calmly on his haunches, but there was no Italian.

"Now that his master is gone," my hostess exclaimed, "I am afraid of
him! I will not go any farther! Can you imagine anything that can be
done with that beast?"

I had no immediate answer to give, and I was still very much amused at
the absurdity of the situation. Had any one ever before paid his bill
in such fashion? At this moment the stable-man approached us from one
of the outbuildings. "This is my hostler," she said. "Perhaps he can
suggest something."

"This is a bad go, ma'am," said he. "The horse was out in the pasture
all night, but this morning when I went to bring him up I couldn't
make him come near the stable. He smells that bear! It seems to drive
him crazy!"

"It's awful!" she said. "What are we going to do, John? Do you think
the animal will become dangerous when he misses his master?"

"Oh, there's nothin' dangerous about him," answered John. "I was
sittin' talkin' to that Dago last night after supper, and he says his
bear's tamer than a cat. He is so mild-tempered that he wouldn't hurt
nobody. The Dago says he sleeps close up to him of cold nights to keep
himself warm. There ain't no trouble about his bein' dangerous, but
you can't bring the horse into the stable while he's about. If anybody
was to drive into this yard without knowin' they'd be a circus, I can
tell you! Horses can't stand bears."

She looked at me in dismay. "Couldn't he be shot and buried?" she
asked.

I had my doubts on that point. A tame bear is a valuable animal, and I
could not advise her to dispose of the property of another person in
that summary way.

"But he must be got away," she said. "We can't have a bear here. He
must be taken away some way or other. Isn't there any place where he
could be put until the Italian comes back?"

"That Dago's never comin' back," said the boy, solemnly. "If you'd
a-seen him scoot, you'd a-knowed that he was dead skeered, and would
never turn up here no more, bear or no bear."

Mrs. Chester looked at me. She was greatly worried, but she was also
amused, and she could not help laughing.

"Isn't this a dreadful predicament?" she said. "What in the world am I
to do?" At this moment there was an acidulated voice from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Whittaker wants to see you, Mrs. Chester," it cried, "right
away!"

"Oh, dear!" said she. "Here is more trouble! Mrs. Whittaker is an
invalid lady who is so nervous that she could not sleep one night
because she heard a man had killed a snake at the back of the barn,
and what she will say when she hears that we have a bear here without
a master I do not know. I must go to her, and I do wish you could
think of something that I can do;" as she said this she looked at me
as if it were a natural thing for her to rely upon me. For a moment it
made me think of the star that had winked the night before.

Mrs. Chester hurried into the house, and in company with the
stable-man I crossed the yard towards the bear.

"You are sure he is gentle?" said I.

"Mild as milk!" said the man. "I was a-playin' with him last night.
He'll let you do anything with him! If you box his ears, he'll lay
over flat down on his side!"

When we were within a few feet of the bear he sat upright, dangled his
fore paws in front of him, and, with his head on one side, he partly
opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue. "I guess he's beggin' for
his breakfust," said John.

"Can't you get him something to eat?" I asked. "He ought to be fed, to
begin with."

The man went back to the kitchen, and I walked slowly around the bear,
looking at the chain and the post, and trying to see what sort of a
collar was almost hidden under his shaggy hair. Apparently he seemed
securely attached, and then--as he was at the end of his chain--I went
up to him and gently patted one paw. He did not object to this, and
turning his head he let his tongue loll out on the other side, fixing
his little black eyes upon me with much earnestness. When the man came
with the pan of scraps from the kitchen I took it from him and placed
it on the ground in front of the bear. Instantly the animal dropped to
his feet and began to eat with earnest rapidity.

"I wonder how much he'd take in for one meal," said John, "if you'd
give him all he wanted? I guess that Dago never let him have any
more'n he could help."

As the bear was licking the tin pan I stood and looked at him. "I
wonder if he would be tame with strangers?" said I. "Do you suppose we
could take him away from this post if we wanted to?"

"Oh yes," said John. "I wouldn't be afraid to take him anywheres, only
there isn't any place to take him to." He then stepped quite close to
the bear. "Hey, horsey!" said he. "Hey, old horsey! Good old horsey!"

"Is that his name?" I asked.

"That's what the Dago called him," said John. "Hey, horsey! Good
horsey!" And he stooped and unfastened the chain from the post.

I imagined that the Italian had called the bear "Orso," perhaps with
some diminutive, but I did not care to discuss this. I was very much
interested to see what the man was going to do. With the end of the
chain in his hand, John now stepped in front of the bear and said,
"Come along, horsey!" and, to my surprise, the bear began to shamble
after him as quietly as if he had been following his old master.
"See!" cried John. "He'll go anywheres I choose to take him!" and he
began to lead him about the yard.

As he approached the kitchen there came a fearful scream from the open
window.

"Take him away! Take him away!" I heard, in the shrillest accents.

"They're dreadfully skeered," said John, as he led the bear back; "but
he wouldn't hurt nobody! It would be a good thing, though, to put his
muzzle on; that's it hangin' over there by the shed; it's like a
halter, and straps up his jaws. The Dago said there ain't no need for
it, but he puts it on when he's travellin' along the road to keep
people from bein' skeered."

"It would be well to put it on," said I. "I wonder if we can get him
into it?"

"I guess he'd let you do anything you'd a mind to," replied John, as
he again fastened the chain to the post.

I took down the muzzle and approached the bear. He did not growl, but
stood perfectly still and looked at me. I put the muzzle over his
head, and, holding myself in readiness to elude a sudden snap, I
strapped up his jaws. The creature made no snap--he gazed at me with
mild resignation.

"As far as he goes," said John, "he's all right; but as far as
everything else goes--especially horses--they're all wrong. He's got
to be got rid of some way."

I had nothing more to say to John, and I went into the house. I met
Mrs. Chester in the hall.

"I have had a bad time up-stairs," she said. "Mrs. Whittaker declares
that she will not stay an hour in a house where there is a bear
without a master; but as she has a terrible sciatica and cannot
travel, I do not know what she is going to do. Her trained nurse, I
believe, is now putting on her bonnet to depart."

As she spoke, the joyful anticipation of a few days at the Holly Sprig
Inn began to fade away. I did not blame the bear as the present cause
of my disappointment. He had done all he could for me. It was his
wretched master who had done the mischief by running away and leaving
him. But no matter what had happened, I saw my duty plainly before me.
I had not been encouraged to stay, but it is possible that I might
have done so without encouragement, but now I saw that I must go. The
Fates, who, as I had hoped, had compelled my stay, now compelled my
departure.

"Do not give yourself another thought upon the subject," I said. "I
will settle the whole matter, and nobody need be frightened or
disturbed. The Cheltenham Hotel is only a few miles farther on, and I
shall have to walk there anyway. I will start immediately and take the
bear with me. I am sure that he will allow me to lead him wherever I
please. I have tried him, and I find that he is a great deal gentler
than most children."

She exclaimed, in horror: "You must not think of it! He might spring
upon you and tear you to pieces!"

"Oh, he will not do that," I answered. "He is not that sort of a
bear--and, besides, he is securely muzzled. I muzzled him myself, and
he did not mind it in the least. Oh, you need not be afraid of the
bear; he has had his breakfast and he is in perfect good-humor with
the world. It will not take me long to reach the hotel, and I shall
enjoy the walk, and when I get there I will be sure to find some shed
or out-house where the beast can be shut up until it can be decided
what to do with him. I can leave him there and have him legally
advertised, and then--if nothing else can be done--he can be shot. I
shall be very glad to have his skin; it will be worth enough to cover
his bill here, and the damages to my bicycle. I shall send for that
as soon as I reach the hotel. I can go to Waterton by train and take
it with me. I can have it made all right in Waterton. So now, you see,
I have settled everything satisfactorily."

She looked at me earnestly, and, although there was a certain
solicitude in her gaze, I could also see there signs of great relief.
"But isn't there some other way of getting that bear to the hotel?"
she said. "It will be dreadful for you to have to walk there and lead
him."

"It's the only way to do it," I answered. "You could not hitch a bear
behind a wagon--the horse would run away and jerk his head off. The
only way to take a bear about the country is to lead him, and I do not
mind it in the least. As I have got to go without my bicycle I would
like to have some sort of company. Anyway, the bear must go, and as I
am on the road to the Cheltenham I shall be very glad to take him
along with me."

"I think you are wonderfully brave," she said, "and very good. If I
can persuade myself it will be perfectly safe for you, it will
certainly be a great relief to me."

I was now engaged in a piece of self-sacrifice, and I felt that I must
do it thoroughly and promptly. "I will go and get my valise," I said,
"for I ought to start immediately."

"Oh, I will send that!" she exclaimed.

"No," I answered; "it does not weigh anything, and I can sling it over
my shoulder. By-the-way," I said, turning as I was about to leave the
room, "I have forgotten something." I put my hand into my pocket; it
would not do to forget that I was, after all, only a departing guest.

"No, no," she replied, quickly, "I am your debtor. When you find out
how much damage you have suffered, and what is to be done with the
bear, all that can be settled. You can write to me, but I will have
nothing to do with it now."

With my valise over my shoulder I returned to the hall to take leave
of my hostess. Now she seemed somewhat contrite. Fate and she had
conquered, I was going away, and she was sorry for me.

"I think it is wonderfully good of you to do all this," she said. "I
wish I could do something for you."

I would have been glad to suggest that she might ask me to come again,
and it would also have pleased me to say that I did not believe that
her husband, if he could express his opinion, would commend her
apparent inhospitality to his successor. But I made no such remarks,
and offered my hand, which she cordially clasped as if I were an old
friend and were going away to settle in the Himalayas.

I went into the yard to get Orso. He was lying down when I approached
him, but I think he knew from my general appearance that I was
prepared to take the road, and he rose to his feet as much as to say,
"I am ready." I unfastened the chain from the post, and, with the best
of wishes for good-luck from John, who now seemed to be very well
satisfied with me, I walked around the side of the house, the bear
following as submissively as if he had been used to my leadership all
his life.

I did not see the boy nor the lemon-faced woman, and I was glad of it.
I believe they would have cast evil eyes upon me, and there is no
knowing what that bear might have done in consequence.

Mrs. Chester was standing in the door as I reached the road.
"Good-bye!" she cried, "and good fortune go with you!" I raised my
hat, and gave Orso a little jerk with the chain.




CHAPTER IX

A RUNAWAY


He was a very slow walker, that bear. If I had been alone I would have
been out of sight of the inn in less than five minutes. As it was, I
looked back after a considerable time to see if I really were out of
sight of the house, and I found I was not. She was still standing in
the doorway, and when I turned she waved her handkerchief. Now that I
had truly left and was gone, she seemed to be willing to let me know
better than before what a charming woman she was. I took off my hat
again and pressed forward.

For a couple of miles, perhaps, I walked thoughtfully, and I do not
believe I once thought of the bear shambling silently behind me. I had
been dreaming a day-dream--not building a castle in the air, for I had
seen before me a castle already built. I had simply been dreaming
myself into it, into its life, into its possessions, into the
possession of everything which belonged to it.

It had been a fascinating vision. It had suited my fancy better than
any vision of the future which I had ever had. I was not ambitious; I
loved the loveliness of life. I was a student, and I had a dream of
life which would not interfere with the society of my books. I loved
all rural pleasures, and I had dreamed of a life where these were
spread out ready for my enjoyment. I was a man formed to love, and
there had come to me dreams of this sort of thing.

My dreams had even taken practical shape. As I was dressing myself
that morning I had puzzled my brain to find a pretext for taking the
first step, which would be to remain a few days at the inn.

The pretext for doing this had appeared to me. For a moment I had
snatched at it and shown my joy, and then it had utterly
disappeared--the vision, the fancy, the anticipations, the plans, the
vine-covered home in the air, all were destroyed as completely as if
it had been the tire of my bicycle scattered about in little bits upon
the ground.

"Come along, old Orso!" I exclaimed, endeavoring to mend my pace, and
giving the bear a good pull upon his chain. But the ugly creature did
not walk any faster; he simply looked at me with an air as if he would
say that if I kept long upon the road I would learn to take it easy,
and maintained the deliberate slouch of his demeanor.

Presently I stopped, and Orso was very willing to imitate me in that
action. I found, to my surprise, that I was not walking upon a
macadamized road: such was the highway which passed the inn and led, I
had been told, to the Cheltenham. I was now upon a road of gravel and
clay, smooth enough and wide enough, but of a different character from
that on which I had started that morning. I looked about me. Across a
field to my left I saw a line of trees which seemed to indicate a
road. I had a dim recollection of having passed a road which seemed to
turn to the left, but I had been thinking very earnestly, and had paid
little attention to it. Probably that road was the main road and this
the one which turned off.

I determined to investigate. It would not do to wander out of my way
with my present encumbrance. It was now somewhat after noon; the
country people were eating their dinners or engaged about their barns;
there was nobody upon the road. At some distance ahead of me was a
small house standing well back behind a little group of trees, and I
decided to go there and make inquiries. And as it would not do at all
to throw a rural establishment into a state of wild confusion by
leading a bear up to its door, I conducted Orso to the side of the
road and chained him to a fence-post. He was perfectly satisfied and
lay down, his nose upon his fore-paws.

[Illustration: "TO MY LEFT I SAW A LINE OF TREES"]

I found three women in the little house. They were in a side kitchen
eating their dinner, and I wondered what the bear would have done if
he had smelled that dinner. They told me that I was not on the main
road, and would have to go back more than half a mile in order to
regain it.

When I was out on the road again I said to myself that if I could
possibly make Orso step along at a little more lively pace I might get
to the hotel in time for a very late luncheon, and I was beginning to
think that I had not been wise in declining portable refreshment, when
I heard a noise ahead of me. At a considerable distance along the
road, and not far from where I had left the bear, I saw a horse
attached to a vehicle approaching me at a furious speed. He was
running away! The truth flashed upon me--he had been frightened by
Orso!

I ran a few steps towards the approaching horse. His head was high in
the air, and the vehicle swayed from side to side. It was a tall
affair with two wheels, and on the high seat sat a lady vainly tugging
at the reins. My heart sank. What dreadful thing had I done!

I stood in the middle of the road. It seemed but a few seconds before
the horse was upon me. He swerved to one side, but I was ready for
that. I dashed at his bridle, but caught the end of his cumbrous bit
in my right hand. I leaned forward with all the strength that dwelt in
my muscles and nerves. The horse's glaring eye was over my face, and I
felt the round end of a shaft rise up under my arm. A pair of
outstretched forelegs slid past me. I saw the end of a banged tail
switching in the dust. The horse was on his haunches. He was stopped.

Before I had time to recover an erect attitude and to let up the horse
the occupant of the vehicle was on the ground She had skipped down
with wonderful alacrity on the side opposite to me, and was coming
round by the back of the cart. The horse was now standing on his four
legs, trembling in every fibre, and with eyes that were still wild and
staring. Holding him firmly, I faced the lady as she stopped near me.
She was a young woman in a jaunty summer costume and a round straw
hat. She did not seem to be quite mistress of herself; she was not
pale, but perhaps that was because her face was somewhat browned by
the sun, but her step was not steady, and she breathed hard. Under
ordinary circumstances she would have been assisted to the side of the
road, where she might sit down and recover herself, and have water
brought to her. But I could do nothing of that sort. I could not leave
that shivering horse.

[Illustration: "HE WAS RUNNING AWAY"]

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

"Oh no," she said, "but I am shaken up a bit. I cannot tell you how
grateful I am! I don't believe I ever can tell you!"

"Do not speak of that." I said, quickly. "Perhaps you would feel
better if you were to sit down somewhere."

"Oh, I don't want to sit down," said she. "I am so glad to have my
feet on the solid earth again that that is enough for me. It was a
bear that frightened him--a bear lying down by the side of the road a
little way back. He never ran away before, but when he saw that bear
he gave a great shy and a bolt, and he was off. I just got a glimpse
of the beast."

I was very anxious to change the conversation, and suggested that I
lead the horse into the shade, for the sun was blazing down upon us.
The horse submitted to be led to the side of the road, but he was very
nervous, and looked everywhere for the approach of shaggy bears.

"It is perfectly dreadful," she said, when she again approached me,
"for people to leave bears about in that way. I suppose he was
fastened, for it could not have been a wild beast. They do not lie
down by the side of the road. I do not say that I was rattled, but I
expected every second that there would be a smash, and there would
have been if it had not been for--"

"It is a wonder you were not thrown out," I interrupted, "those carts
are so tall."

"Yes," she answered, "and if I hadn't slipped off the driving-cushion
at the first shy I would have been out sure. I never had anything
happen like this, but who could have expected a great bear by the side
of the road?"

"Have you far to go?" I asked.

"Not very--about three miles. I made a call this morning on the other
road, and was driving home. My name is Miss Larramie. My father's
place is on this road. He is Henry Esmond Larramie." I had heard of
the gentleman, but had never met him. "I am not afraid of horses,"
she continued, "but I do not know about driving this one now. He looks
as if he were all ready to bolt again."

"Oh, it would not do for you to drive him," I said. "That would be
extremely risky."

"I might walk home," she said, "but I could not leave the horse."

"Let me think a minute," said I. Then presently I asked, "Will this
horse stand if he is hitched?"

"Oh yes," she answered; "I always hitch him when I make calls. There
is a big strap under the seat which goes around his neck, and then
through a ring in his bit. He has to stand--he can't get away."

"Very well, then," said I; "I will tell you what I will do. I will tie
him to this tree. I think he is quieter, and if you will stand by him
and talk to him--he knows you?"

"Oh yes," she answered, "and I can feed him with grass. But why do you
want to tie him? What are you going to do?"

As she spoke she brought me the tie strap, and I proceeded to fasten
the horse to a tree.

"Now, then," said I, "I must go and get the bear and take him away
somewhere out of sight. It will never do to leave him there. Some
other horse might be coming along."

"You get the bear!" she said, surprised.

"Yes," I answered; "he is my bear, and--"

She stepped back, her eyes expanded and her lower jaw dropped. "_Your_
bear!" she cried, and with that her glance seemed to run all over me
as if she were trying to find some resemblance to a man who exhibited
a bear.

"Yes," I replied; "I left him there while I went to ask my way. It was
a dreadful thing to do, but I must leave him there no longer. I will
tell you all about it when I come back."

I had decided upon a plan of action. I ran down the road to the bear,
took down some bars of the fence, and then, untying him, I led him
over a field to a patch of woodland. Orso shuffled along humbly as if
it did not make any difference to him where he went, and when I
reached the woods I entered it by an old cart-road, and soon struck
off to one side among some heavy underbrush. Finding a spot where it
would be impossible for the beast to be seen from the road, I fastened
him securely to a tree. He looked after me regretfully, and I think I
heard him whine, but I am not sure of that. I hurried back to the
road, replaced the bars, and very soon had joined the young lady.

"Well," said she, "never in this world would I have thought that was
your bear! But what is to be done now? This horse gave a jump as soon
as he heard you running this way."

"Now," said I, "I will drive you to your house, or, if you are afraid,
you can walk, and I will take him home for you if you will give me the
directions."

"Oh, I am not a bit afraid," she said. "I am sure you can manage
him--you seem to be able to manage animals. But will not this be a
great inconvenience to you? Are you going this way? And won't you have
to come back after your bear? I can't believe that you are really
leading a bear about."

I laughed as I unfastened the horse. "It will not take me long to come
back," I said. "Now, I will get in first, and, when I have him
properly in hand, you can mount on the other side."

The young lady appeared to have entirely recovered from the effects of
her fright, and was by my side in a moment. The horse danced a little
as we started and tried to look behind him, but he soon felt that he
was under control, and trotted off finely.

I now thought that I ought to tell her who I was, for I did not want
to be taken for a travelling showman, although I really did not
suppose that she would make such a mistake.

"So you are the school-master at Walford!" said she. "I have heard
about you. Little Billy Marshall is one of your scholars."

I admitted that he was, and that I was afraid he did not do me very
much credit.

"Perhaps not," she said, "but he is a good boy. His mother sometimes
works for us; she does quite heavy jobs of sewing, and Billy brings
them up by train. He was here a little more than a week ago, and I
asked him how he was getting on at school, and if he had a good
teacher, and he said the man was pretty good. But I want to know about
the bear. How in the world did you happen to be leading a bear?"

I related the ursine incident, which amused her very much, and, as she
was a wheelwoman herself, she commiserated with me sincerely on the
damage to my machine.

"So you stopped at the Holly Sprig?" she said. "And how did you like
the mistress of that little inn?"

I replied that I had found her very interesting.

"Yes, she is an interesting woman," said my companion, "and a very
pretty one, too. Some people wonder why she continues to keep the inn,
but perhaps she has to. You know, her husband was murdered."

[Illustration: "He soon felt that he was under control"]

"No, I did not!" I exclaimed, in surprise. "I knew he was not
living--but murdered! That is dreadful! How did that happen?"

"Nobody knows," she answered. "They had not been married very long--I
do not know how long--when he was killed. He went to New York on
business by himself, and did not come back. They were searching for
him days and days--ever so long, and they could find no clew. At
last--it may have been a month afterwards--or perhaps it was more--it
was found that he had been murdered. His body had been discovered, and
was supposed to be that of somebody else, and had been buried in
whatever place the authorities buried people in such cases. Then it
was too late to get it or to identify it, or to do anything. Wasn't
that perfectly awful?"

This story gave me a peculiar shock. I could not have imagined that
that charming and apparently light-hearted young woman at the Holly
Sprig had ever been crushed down by such a sorrow as this. But I did
not ask any more questions. The young girl by my side probably knew no
more than she had already told me. Besides, I did not want to hear any
more.

"'Royal' goes along just as if nothing had happened," she said,
admiringly regarding the horse. "Now, I wonder if it will be safe for
me to drive him again?"

"I should be very sorry," I answered, "if my thoughtlessness had
rendered him unsafe for you; but if he could be led up and down past
the place where he saw the bear until he becomes convinced that there
is now nothing dreadful in that spot, he may soon be all right again."

"Do you know," she said, suddenly turning towards me, "what I would
like better than anything else in this world? I would like to be able
to stand in the middle of the road and stop a horse as you did!"

I laughed and assured her that I knew there were a great many things
in the world which it would be much better for her to do than that.

"Nothing would please me so much," she said, decisively, "not one
single, solitary thing! There's our gate. Turn in here, please."

I drove up a winding road which led to a house standing among trees on
a slight elevation. "Please let me out here," she said, when I reached
the end of the porch. "I will send a man to take the horse."




CHAPTER X

THE LARRAMIE FAMILY


I think I did not have to wait ten seconds after her departure, for a
stable-man had seen us approach and immediately came forward. I jumped
down from the cart and looked in the direction of the road. I thought
if I were to make a cross-cut over the lawn and some adjacent fields I
should get back to my bear much quicker than if I returned the way I
had come. But this thought had scarcely shaped itself in my mind when
I heard the approach of hurrying feet, and in the next moment a little
army had thrown itself upon me.

There was a tall, bright-faced man, with side whiskers and a flowing
jacket, who came forward with long steps and outstretched hand; there
was a lady behind him, with little curls on the side of her head; and
there were some boys and girls and other people. And nearly in front
of the whole of them was the young lady I had brought to the house.
Each one of them seized me by the hand; each one of them told me what
a great thing I had done; each of them thanked me from the bottom of
his or her heart for saving the life of his or her daughter or sister,
and not one of them gave me a chance to say that as I had done all the
mischief I could not be too thankful that I had been able to avert
evil consequences. From the various references to the details of the
incident I concluded that the young lady had dashed into the house and
had given a full account of everything which had happened in less time
than it would have taken me to arrange my ideas for such a recital.

As soon as I could get a chance I thanked them all for their gracious
words, and said that as I was in a hurry I must take my leave.
Thereupon arose a hubbub of voices. "Not at dinner-time!" exclaimed
Mr. Larramie. "We would never listen to such a thing!"

"And you need not trouble yourself about your bear," cried my young
lady, whose Christian name I soon discovered to be Edith. "He can live
on barks and roots until we have time to attend to him. He is used to
that in his native wilds."

[Illustration: "A LITTLE ARMY HAD THROWN ITSELF UPON US."]

Now everybody wanted to know everything about the bear, and great was
the hilarity which my account occasioned.

"Come in! Come in!" exclaimed Mr. Larramie. "The bear will be all
right if you tied him well. You have just time to get ready for
dinner." And noticing a glance I had given to my garments, he
continued: "You need not bother about your clothes. We are all in
field costume. Oh, I did not see you had a valise. Now, hurry in, all
of you!"

That dinner was a most lively meal. Everybody seemed to be talking at
once, yet they all found time to eat. The father talked so much that
his daughter Edith took the carving-fork from him and served out the
mutton-chops herself. The mother, from the other end of the table,
with tears in her eyes, continually asked me if I would not have
something or other, and how I could ever screw up my courage to go
about with an absolutely strange bear.

There was a young man, apparently the oldest son, with a fine, frank
manner and very broad shoulders. He was so wonderfully developed about
the bust that he seemed almost deformed, his breast projecting so far
that it gave him the appearance of being round-shouldered in front.
This, my practised eye told me, was the result of undue exercise in
the direction of chest-expansion. He was a good-natured fellow, and
overlooked my not answering several of his questions, owing to the
evident want of opportunity to do so.

There was a yellow-haired girl with a long plait down her back; there
was a half-grown boy, wearing a blue calico shirt with a red cravat;
there was a small girl who sat by her mother; and there was a young
lady, very upright and slender, who did not seem to belong to the
family, for she never used the words "father" and "mother," which were
continually in the mouths of the others. This young lady talked
incessantly, and fired her words after the manner of a Gatling gun,
without taking aim at anybody in particular. Sometimes she may have
been talking to me, but, as she did not direct her gaze towards me on
such occasions, I did not feel bound to consider any suppositions in
regard to the matter.

I, of course, was the principal object of general attention. They
wanted to know what I really thought of Billy Marshall as a scholar.
They wanted to know if I would have some more. They wanted to know if
I had had any previous experience with bears. The father asked which
I thought it would be easier to manage, a boy or a bear. The boy Percy
wanted to know how I placed my feet when I stood up in front of a
runaway horse. Others asked if I intended to go back to my school at
Walford, and how I liked the village, and if I were president of the
literary society there, which Mrs. Larramie thought I ought to be, on
account of my scholastic position.

[Illustration: "'WOULD IT BE EASIER TO MANAGE A BOY OR A BEAR?'"]

But before the meal was over the bear had come to be the absorbing
subject of conversation. I was asked my plans about him, and they were
all disapproved.

"It would be of no use to take him to the Cheltenham," said Walter,
the oldest son. "They couldn't keep him there. They have too many
horses--a livery-stable. They wouldn't let you come on the place with
him."

"Of course not," said Mr. Larramie. "And, besides, why should you take
him there? It would be a poor place anyway. They wouldn't keep him
until his owner turned up. They wouldn't have anything to do with him.
What you want to do is to bring your bear here. We have a hay-barn out
in the fields. He could sleep in the hay, and we could give him a long
chain so that he could have a nice range."

The younger members of the family were delighted with this
suggestion. Nothing would please them better than to have a bear on
the place. Each one of them was ready to take entire charge of it, and
Percy declared that he would go into the woods and hunt for wild-bee
honey with which to feed it. Even Mrs. Larramie assured me that if a
bear were well chained, at a suitable distance, she would have no
fears whatever of it.

I accepted the proposition, for I was glad to get rid of the animal in
a way which would please so many people, and after dinner was over,
and I had smoked a cigar with my host and his son Walter, I said that
it was time for me to go and get the bear.

"But you won't go by the main road," said Mr. Larramie. "That makes a
great curve below here to avoid a hill. If I understood you properly,
you left the bear not far from a small house inhabited by three
women?"

"They're the McKenna sisters," added Walter.

"Yes," said the father, "and their house is not more than two miles
from here by a field road. I will go with you."

I exclaimed that I would not put him to so much trouble, but my words
were useless. The Walter son declared that he would go also, that he
would like the walk; the Percy son declared he was going if anybody
went; and Genevieve, the girl with the yellow plait, said that she
wished she were a boy so that she could go too, and she wished she
could go anyway, boy or no boy, and as her father said that there was
no earthly reason why she should not go, she ran for her hat.

Miss Edith looked as if she would like to go, but she did not say so;
and, as for me, I agreed to every proposition. It would certainly be
great fun to do things with this lively household.

We started off without the boy, but it was not long before he came
running after us, and to my horror I perceived that he carried a
rifle.

"What are you going to do with that, Percy?" exclaimed his father.

"I don't expect to do anything with it," the boy replied, "but I
thought it would be a good thing to bring it along--especially as
Genevieve is with us. Nobody knows what might happen."

"That's true," exclaimed Walter, "and the fact that Genevieve is along
is the best reason in the world for your not bringing a gun. You
better go take it back."

To this Percy strongly objected. He was going out on a sort of a
bear-hunt, and to him half the pleasure would be lost if he did not
carry a gun. I am not a coward, but a boy with a gun is a terror to
me. My expression may have intimated my state of mind, for Mr.
Larramie said to me that we had now gone so far that it would be a
pity to send Percy back, and that he did not think there would be any
danger, for his boy had been taught how to carry a gun properly.

"We are all out-of-door people and sportsmen," he said, "and we begin
early. But I suppose what you are thinking about is the danger of some
of us ending soon. But we need not be afraid of that. Walk in front,
Percy, and keep the barrel pointed downward."

When we came in sight of the house of the three McKennas, Walter
proposed that we make a dГ©tour towards the woods. "For," said he, "if
those good women see a party like this with a gun among them, they
will be sure to think it is a case of escaped criminal, or something
of that kind, and be frightened out of their wits."

We skirted the edge of the trees until we came to the opening of the
wood road, which I recognized immediately, and, asking Percy and the
others to keep back, I went on by myself.

"I don't think people would frighten that sort of a bear," I heard
Genevieve say. "He must be used to crowds around him when he's
dancing."

I presently reached the place where I had turned from the road. It was
a natural break in the woods. There was the tree to which I had tied
the bear, but there was no bear.

I stood aghast, and in a moment the rest of the party were clustered
around me. "Is this where you left him?" they cried. "And is he gone?
Are you sure this is the place?"

Yes, I was sure of it. I have an excellent eye for locality, and I
knew that I had chained the bear to the small oak in front of me. At
that moment there was a scream from Genevieve. "Look! Look!" she
cried. "There he is, just ready to spring!"

We all looked up, and, sure enough, on the lower branch of the oak,
half enveloped in foliage, we saw the bear extended at full length and
blinking down at us. I gave a shout of delight.

"Now, keep back, all of you!" I cried. "Bears don't spring from trees,
but it will be better for you to be out of the way while I try to get
him down."

I walked up to the oak-tree, and then I found that the bear was still
firmly attached to it. His chain had been fastened loosely around the
trunk; he had climbed up to the branch and pulled the chain with him.

I now called upon Orso to come down, but apparently he did not
understand English, and lay quietly upon the branch, his head towards
the trunk of the tree. I extended my hand up towards the chain, and
found that I could nearly reach it. "Shall I give you a lift?" cried
Walter, and I accepted the offer. It was a hard piece of work for him,
but he was a professed athlete, and he would have lifted me if it had
cracked his spine. I reached up and unhooked the chain. It was then
long enough for me to stand on the ground and hold the end of it.

Now I began to pull. "Come down!" I said. "Come down, Orso!" But Orso
did not move.

"Bears don't come down head-foremost," cried Percy; "they turn around
and come down backwards. You ought to have a chain to his tail if you
want to pull him down."

"He hasn't got any tail!" exclaimed Genevieve.

I was in a quandary. I might as well try to break the branch as to
pull the bear down. "If we had only thought of bringing a bucket of
meat!" cried Percy.

"Would you mind holding the chain," I said to Walter, "while I try to
drive him down?" Of course the developed young man was not afraid to
do anything I was not afraid to do, and he took the chain. There was
a pine-tree growing near the oak, and, mounting into this, I found
that with a long stick which Mr. Larramie handed me I could just reach
the bear. "Go down!" I said, tapping him on the haunches, but he did
not move.

"Can't you speak to him in Italian?" said Genevieve. "Tame bears know
Italian. Doesn't anybody know the Italian for 'Come down out of a
tree?'" But such knowledge was absent from the party.

"Try him in Latin," cried Percy. "That must be a good deal like
Italian, anyway."

To this suggestion Mr. Larramie made no answer; he had left college
before any of the party present had been born; Mr. Walter looked a
little confused; he had graduated several years before, and his
classics were rusty. I felt that my pedagogical position made it
incumbent upon me to take immediate action, but for the life of me I
could not think of an appropriate phrase.

"Give him high English!" cried Mr. Larramie. "That's often classic
enough! Tell him to descend!"

"Orso, descend!" I cried, giving a little foreign twang to the words.
Immediately the bear began to twist like a caterpillar upon the limb,
he extended his hind-legs towards the trunk, he seized it with his
fore-paws. He began slowly to move downward.

"Hurrah!" cried Percy, "that hit him like a rifle-ball! Hurrah for
high English! That's good enough for me!"

"Look at his hind hands!" cried Genevieve. "He has worn all the hair
off his palms!"

I hurried from the tree and reached the ground before the bear. Then
taking the end of the chain, I advised the others to move out of the
woods while I followed with the bear. They all obeyed except
Genevieve, who wanted very much to linger behind and help me lead him.
But this I would not permit.

The bear followed me with his usual docility until we had emerged from
the woods. Then he gave a little start, and fixed his eyes upon Percy,
who stood at a short distance, his rifle in his hand. I had not
supposed that this bear was afraid of anything, but now I had reason
to believe that he was afraid of guns, for the instant he saw the
armed boy he made the little start I have mentioned, and followed it
up by a great bolt which jerked the chain from my hand, and the next
instant Orso was bounding away in great lopes, his chain rattling
behind him.

Promptly Percy brought his rifle to his shoulder. "Don't you fire!" I
shouted. "Put down your gun and leave it here. It frightens him!" And
with that we were all off in hot pursuit.

"Cut him off from the woods!" shouted Mr. Walter, who was in advance.
"If he gets in the woods we'll lose him sure!"

We followed this good advice, and at the top of our speed we
endeavored to get between the beast and the trees. To a certain extent
we succeeded in our object, for some of us were fast runners, and
Orso, perceiving that he might be cut off from a woody retreat, turned
almost at right angles and made directly for the house.

"He's after the three McKennas!" screamed Genevieve, as she turned to
follow the bear, and from being somewhat in the rear she was now in
advance of us, and dashed across the field at a most wonderful rate
for a girl.

The rest of us soon passed her, but before we reached the house the
bear disappeared behind some out-buildings. Then we saw him again. He
dashed through the gate of a back yard. He seemed to throw himself
against the house. He disappeared through a door-way. There was a
great crash as of crockery and tin. There were screams. There was
rattling and banging, and then all was still. When we reached the
house we heard no sound.




CHAPTER XI

THE THREE McKENNAS


I was in advance, and as I entered the door-way through which the bear
had disappeared, I found myself in the kitchen where I had seen the
three women at their dinner. Wild confusion had been brought about in
a second. A table had been over-turned, broken dishes and tin things
were scattered on the floor, a wooden chair lay upon its back, and the
room seemed deserted. The rest of the party quickly rushed in behind
me, and great were their exclamations at the scene of havoc.