Part 14

“The bear!” cried Tommy.

“The bear?” repeated Mrs. Drew, hardly understanding.

Then she drew a long breath and turned very white as she stood a moment shielding her eyes from the sun, looking in the direction in which Tommy pointed. Then she ran back into the house, and came out in a moment, bringing with her a huge horn. It was a megaphone. She was trembling so she could scarcely lift it, but she managed to raise it to her mouth and call through it. “John! Murray! come! come this instant! The bear is in the woods back of the house.”

In a few moments her husband and brother came running from the field where they were at work.

They stopped for no questions, but rushed into the house for their guns. But as they came out Mr. Drew asked, “Who saw it? When, where?”

“I did,” said Tommy, not a bit frightened, but feeling very excited and proud. “I did, back there in a tree.”

“In a tree?” cried Mrs. Drew’s brother, stopping in his quick run for the woods.

“Yes,” said Tommy, “it was a bear, but it looked,--it LOOKED just like my picture of a wiggle-tail.”

“Oh,” cried Mrs. Drew, as she sank on the door-step, “the child has seen a gray squirrel!”

MYSELF.

One little head so smooth and round, With soft hair covered, golden or brown, One little forehead smooth and white, Two little eye-brows dark or light. Two little eyes that we see through. See us looking, now, at you? Two little cheeks so plump and round, Where the red rose of health is found. Two little ears where sound comes in; One little nose and mouth and chin. Rows of little teeth all in white; Ready for use when lunch is in sight. One little tongue kind words to say-- Bright little smiles which round them play. One little head where all are seen. One little neck which stands between Head and shoulders to hold them fast. Now are we ready to find, at last, One little body with arms and hands Two legs and two feet on which it stands.

TWO STRANGE SIGHTS.

“Oh come into the dining-room!” Cries Fred, “come, grandma, dear. For something very strange indeed Is going on in here!” And sure enough, when grandma comes, Perhaps at first with fright, She stands quite still, astonished at An unexpected sight.

For there upon the woollen rug, A jug between her feet, Sits Freddy’s little sister Bess Absorbed in pleasures sweet. Her finger in the syrup now Behold she slyly dips, And carries it with great delight To her own rosy lips.

“You little witch!” cries grandmama, “You’re like the naughty rat I found within the cellar once, Who on a barrel sat, Filled with molasses, which he reached By dipping in the hole His great long tail from which he licked The sweets he thus had stole.

“The rat was shot, but grandma’s babe, Well, till she’s learned to know Such tricks are wrong, why we of course Must naught but patience show.” Then grandma took her little pet, And washed her sticky face, Then put that tempting syrup-jug Up in a safer place.

A CAT’S INSTINCTS.

“Take that! and that! and that!” These words came from an angry little girl. She was leaning over a big gray puss which she was holding down with one hand, while with the other she struck him a sharp blow every time she said “THAT.”

It is a wonder puss did not bite her, for he was so strong he could have done so. He was a very gentle cat. “Gentle?” I hear some one ask. Then why did he deserve such a whipping as the little girl was giving him?

That is a question we must try to have answered. For my part I do not believe he deserved it at all. Let us see what happened next. Just as the little girl struck the last blow her Aunt Margaret came into the room. Aunt Margaret stopped in the doorway, astonished.

“Why Flora,” she said, as puss darted out of the room, “what are you beating Griffin for?”

“What do you think he was doing?” cried Flora, her cheeks still flushed with anger. “He was on the table just ready to spring at this beautiful bird in my new hat. If I had not come he would have torn it to pieces.”

“But he knew no better,” said Aunt Margaret, “it is perfectly natural for a cat to spring at a bird. Yes, and for him to kill it too, if he has not been trained to do otherwise.”

“But it would have made me feel dreadfully to have this beautiful bird torn to bits. I really love it. Besides, it was killed long ago.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Margaret, “killed that you might wear it on a hat.”

There was something in Aunt Margaret’s voice which made Flora and the little girls who were visiting her stand very still and look up.

“You say,” continued Aunt Margaret very gently, “you say you love your beautiful bird. That you would feel dreadfully if it were torn to bits. How do you think its bird-mother felt when it was torn from her nest, and she never saw it again?”

“Oh,” said Flora, “I never thought of that before. I’m afraid,--I’m afraid I’m more to blame than the cat.”