of explanation,
dropped the live cub in her lap.

"O John," she cried, "what a dear little dog he is. Where did you get
him?"

"Under an old tree-top in the woods," he replied. "It isn't a puppy,
it is a bear-cub.

"Here is his brother," and he held up the dead cub for her inspection.
"I guess the old bear came round and stole your baby to take the place
of her dead cub. There are tracks behind the house where she came up
to the window and stood upon her hind legs and looked in. Sort of
taking inventory, as you might say."

The woman went to the north kitchen window and to her great
astonishment saw that her husband had not been joking. There were
bear-tracks, and also two large paw-prints upon the window-sill that
told of a silent watcher of their domestic fireside.

A box was brought from the wood-shed and lined with an old blanket, and
milk was warmed for the little wilderness baby, that had found its way
so strangely into the farmhouse.

It was ravenously hungry and the man held it, while the wife poured
warm milk, a few drops at a time, into its mouth. At first the process
was rather laborious, but after a few hours the young bear would gulp
down the warm milk gladly.

Thus the bear-cub began his life at the farmhouse, lying in a warm box
behind the stove and drinking milk from a saucer. Most of his days and
nights he spent in sleeping, as is the wont of young animals, and this
was nature's sure way of making him strong and sleek.

The following Saturday the farmer went to town, where he was much
lionized as a bear-hunter and the whole story had to be told over and
over to each one he met. That night at the supper-table he remarked to
his wife that he had seen Dave Holcome, a famous trapper and
bear-hunter in his day, and had asked him what he thought about the
bear's stealing the baby.

"What did he say?" inquired the wife, all interest.

"Wal," drawled her husband, in exact imitation of Dave, "bars are
durned curus critters, almost as curus as women. You can hunt and trap
'um all your life an' think you know all about 'um, then along will
come a bar that will teach you difrunt. There ain't no use in makin'
rules about bar ettyket, cuz ef you do, some miserable pig-headed bar
will break 'um all ter smash, jest like this 'ere one did. But I think
there is a good deal surer way uv accountin' for the critter's action
than what you say. It's my idee that he mistook the baby for a young
pig."