ve you so soon forgotten what pap was telling us last
night of his adventures between here and our old home? Once he was by
three Indians chased far into the night, and pressed so closely that he
only saved himself by leaping from a high bank into a deep river, where,
as good luck would have it, a thick growth of rushes fringed the water's
edge, thus affording him a hiding place until the savages gave up the
pursuit. Then there was that other adventure with the two Indians, in
which he should certainly have lost his life but for the timely
assistance of brave Pow-wow. Now, Sprigg, what would you do miles and
miles away from home, in the dark and lonesome woods, were you to see
one of these terrible red men running to meet you, yelling like a
demon--all hideously painted, rifle in hand, belt stuck full of
tomahawks and scalping knives, eh?"

"I would scamper away as fast as Shank's mare could carry me," promptly
rejoined our hero, who, though vain as a young peacock, was as bold as a
young game-cock. Elster continued:

"And, Sprigg, there are bears in the woods, who have such a fancy for
little boys that, should they find one astray too close to their den,
they would hug him, and hug him, till there would not be enough breath
left in his body to carry him home. So he stays just there; and when he
is found, if ever he is found at all, the grass and the weeds and the
dead leaves of the trees have gathered about him and covered him
up--nothing left but his bones and his buttons to tell you whether his
name was John or Sprigg. And, Sprigg" here Elster lowered her voice as
if he of whom she would speak might hear her--"there is one bear in the
woods so large and strong and bold that five dogs as large and strong
and bold as Pow-wow would be no match for him in a fight. Hunters who
have lived much alone in the forest--red hunters, as well as white--say
that neither arrow nor bullet has power to kill him. Though the eye of
the marksman be as keen as that of a lynx, and his hand as steady and
firm as the limb of an oak, and his bullet as swift as the red bolt shot
from the edge of a storm cloud--all will avail him nothing; for, in a
flash of time, where but the moment before appeared a bear, the hunter
now sees nothing but a vine-clad rock, or a moss-grown stump, or a low,
thick bush, waving its green head to the forest winds. Sometimes no
shape whatever appears, and when this is the case, while yet the blue
rifle smoke is curl