Part 17

The skunk paused to stare at this person who was unquestionably a human being, yet who was so very small. Surely here was no enemy. The big skunk sniffed daintily at the hand. It was a very small hand and, as it stroked his soft fur, the animal crowded closer. The baby laughed delightedly and thrust her hand through the bars as far as possible. Then she worked at the fastening of the cage door until she succeeded in wriggling her small body through. There she was, inside the cage with her new playmate.

Thus her mother found her when, a half hour later, she rounded a corner of the house in a search for the runaway. The woman turned pale and with a cry snatched the child away, never stopping until what she considered a safe distance had been placed between them and the skunk. She sniffed suspiciously and was astonished to find that not the slightest odour adhered to the child's garments, for the skunk, as is the way of his kind, was scrupulously clean about his person.

The baby refused to be separated from her pet and, when it was found that the skunk meant no harm, but seemed, on the contrary, quite happy in her company, she was permitted to play with him to her heart's content. Sometimes with a string around his neck she led him about the clearing and, though the big animal could easily have broken away, he made no effort to do so. He was fed with good things until his gait became an undignified waddle. Moreover he loved the petting which was lavished upon him by this small backwoods maiden.

One day after a week of intense cold, during which the baby was confined to the house and the skunk to the warmest corner of his box, the two companions were again abroad, the skunk as usual being led happily along. The baby's wanderings took her farther and farther from the house until, upon rounding the corner of the poultry house which overlooked the lonely pasture, she suddenly found herself face to face with a gaunt, gray timber wolf.

She did not scream, but stood as if rooted to the spot. Both were surprised but the wolf was the first to recover. He was starving and here was food close at hand, to be had for the taking. His eyes flamed as he crouched for the spring. Still the child stood, unable to move, her eyes fixed as if fascinated on the savage ones so near.

It was a tense moment but the tragedy was averted by the big skunk. With banner unfurled he stepped between the wolf and his prey. One moment the wolf glared at the small black and white animal, whom he remembered only too well. The blood lust quickly faded from his eyes, replaced by a great fear. The next moment, with tail between his legs, he was in full retreat, running as he had never run before, while the child rushed screaming to the house.

The big skunk stood where they had left him, looking across the snowy pasture. The sight of the ridge with its group of birch trees and the gray rocks of the pasture recalled the memory of his old free life, and of the den where he had slept so snugly. His weeks of pampered life seemed to fall from him as if they had not been. Without a backward glance he crossed the pasture and vanished over the ridge, the white string trailing behind, the only link remaining between him and the life of the settlements.

THE TWINS

The twins were born one blustery winter day in a den hollowed out beneath the roots of a giant beech. They were woolly black bear cubs, who at birth were blind and no larger than kittens. With nothing to do but to eat and sleep, they grew rapidly. Outside in the forest the gales howled and the snow drifted deep, but the cave was well protected and the great bulk of Mother Bruin kept it warm and of an even temperature.

Before the snow had disappeared the old bear left the cave each day, driven forth by hunger after her long winter fast, but the cubs remained at home until the north wind with its blizzards was forced to retreat before the balmy wind of the south. Then they tumbled out into the sunshine, blinking and rubbing their eyes with their little black paws at the abrupt change from dusk to bright daylight.

It was a wonderful world in which they found themselves. Patches of snow still lingered in the hollows, but the earth was rapidly discarding its brown winter mantle, replacing it with one of living green. The gracefully drooping branches of a group of birch trees standing beside the stream were delicately filmed with green; the air was sweet with the breath of arbutus; and from a tree close beside the swollen brook drifted the six plaintive notes of a white-throated sparrow.

Scraping away the dry leaves under a beech tree, Mother Bruin disclosed a few of the little three-cornered nuts, moldy from their long contact with the earth but, nevertheless, acceptable food for a bear. A little farther on she dug for roots in the soft mud at the edge of a swamp, now vocal with the spring call of the hylas. The cubs followed her, full of curiosity concerning everything they beheld in this new and fascinating world.

Several weeks later, while the Hermit was roaming the woods with his familiar brown bag upon his back, he was granted the rare privilege of watching the bear family when the three were unaware of his presence. Mother Bruin, as usual, was leading the way, the cubs, as like as two peas, following single file in her footsteps and imitating her every move so faithfully that the Hermit chuckled to himself. When the big bear halted and looked about her, the small bears also halted and looked eagerly about; when she sniffed at a fallen log, they, too, sniffed; and once when she sneezed, the cubs looked curiously at her and then tried faithfully to imitate the sound.

The ants were busy making their community dwellings and when Mother Bruin paused to lick up a mouthful, two little red tongues joined hers, the cubs smacking their lips over the treat. At length, their hunger satisfied, the family stopped under a great pine and the cubs began a rough and tumble game, while Mother Bruin sat on her haunches, keenly watchful of every move. Occasionally, for no reason which the Hermit could detect, one or the other of the cubs would receive a boxing from his mother which would set him howling. The punishment was soon forgotten, however, and it is to be hoped that it did them good. Over and over they rolled on the brown pine needles, two furry balls cuffing and biting at each other. Then they paused and sat up panting, exactly as Mother Bruin was sitting.

The effect was so ludicrous that the Hermit had much ado to keep from laughing aloud, but he also had a wholesome fear of Mother Bruin when she felt that her cubs might be in danger. So he stifled the laugh that would have betrayed his presence and at length slipped unobtrusively away.

While shambling through the forest one day Mother Bruin made a wonderful discovery. She came to a tree which had recently fallen to the forest floor and from within came a curious humming. She stopped abruptly to listen, her great head cocked to one side and her eyes shining with anticipation. The cubs also paused, cocked their heads upon one side and waited expectantly. Mother Bruin soon assured herself that there could be no mistake. With her terrible claws she ripped open the rotting log, disclosing a mass of well-filled honey-comb and liberating a great swarm of bees. The air was soon filled with their angry buzzing.

The cubs decided that the spot was not a healthful one and retreated to the bushes, but Mother Bruin paid no attention to the enraged owners of the hive. For a few moments the cubs watched wonderingly; then the tree with its appetizing odour called them and they shambled up to it, the bees being too busy carrying away their store to bother them.

One of the cubs thrust a little black paw into the mass of amber honey and then, as any child would have done, transferred the paw to his mouth. Immediately there spread over his comical little face a look of utter happiness. The other cub, seeing her brother thus pleasantly engaged, lost no time in following his example and the two were soon smeared with honey from top to toe. Never were little bears happier.

The three gorged themselves until they could hold no more. And all the next day the cubs were busy licking their own paws and furry coats, or each other's. It mattered not which, for both bears were literally "as sweet as honey."

As the season advanced and the cubs grew more self-reliant, Mother Bruin occasionally left them for a whole day or night while she traveled farther than their short legs would permit them to follow. Upon one of these occasions when they were left to shift for themselves, the Hermit came suddenly upon them, grubbing for roots at the border of the swamp. Man and cubs were alike surprised and stood eyeing each other. The cubs caught a strange, disturbing odour, but curiosity was stronger than fear and they held their ground.

Seeing that they had no intention of running away, the Hermit, careful to make no sudden movement, drew from his pocket a lump of sugar which he always carried in the hope of meeting Brown Brother, the deer. He seated himself upon a log and placed the sugar upon the ground in front of him. The cubs also sat down and looked at the man and the sugar. Clearly this strange creature meant no harm and the white object looked good. For a while longer the cubs regarded him keenly while the man refrained from looking directly at them lest his eyes make them uneasy.

At length one of the cubs, the one who had first investigated the bee tree, advanced cautiously, keeping his eyes on the man, and sniffed at the sugar. The next moment he had gobbled it up and was licking his lips in appreciation. It was almost, if not quite, as good as honey. Seeing his delight, the other cub forgot her fear and demanded her sugar lump. They then permitted the Hermit to pet them to his heart's content, while they nosed about his pockets for more sweets.

He had made two close friends, as he discovered a bit later, somewhat to his embarrassment. For when he rose to continue his way, the cubs trotted after him as a matter of course. Try as he would he could not rid himself of them. The cubs had found him a source of good and they stuck to him like burrs. Vainly he shouted at them, waving his arms like windmills; the cubs only sat back upon their haunches and looked at him in wonder, until he could not help laughing. Then he tried throwing sticks at them but this method, also, had no effect. Their hides were thick and sticks meant nothing to them.

Finally he stopped and looked down at the two small bears with an expression blended of amusement and annoyance. He knew that, should the mother bear return and find the cubs following her natural enemy, she would not wait for explanations. There would be but one explanation in her mind and her vengeance would be swift. The Hermit had seen her and from afar noted with respect her great bulk. Moreover, he was unarmed. To say the least, the situation was an unpleasant one, and he wished heartily that he had not been so quick to make friends. Every crackling twig in the forest brought a quickening of his pulses but, fortunately for him, Mother Bruin was miles away, enjoying a meal of berries.

Meanwhile the Hermit's situation was growing more uncomfortable. One of the cubs seemed to have made up his mind that the man had more sugar, which he was deliberately keeping from them. Accordingly he attempted to scale the Hermit as he would a tree, a proceeding to which the man objected most emphatically. The cub was big and heavy and his claws were sharp. With a yell the man dislodged him and sprang aside.

As it happened, this movement was his salvation, for it recalled to his mind the bag upon his back. The bag contained two apples and several cookies which he had carried with him, expecting to be gone from his cabin the greater part of the day. Now as he remembered them, he gave a sigh of relief. The cubs watched him with interested eyes as he drew the good things from the bag and deposited them upon the ground under a big tree. As he had hoped, the bears at once fell upon them and became so engrossed that he was able to slip out of sight behind the tree. He immediately took to his heels, never stopping until he had put a safe distance between himself and the too-friendly bear cubs.

The paths of the man and the cubs, however, were destined often to cross. Not long after this experience they met again. In the Hermit's clearing, close to the fence, stood a sweet apple tree loaded with fruit. Approaching it one day to see if the apples were ripening, the Hermit discovered two furry balls among the branches and found himself looking into two pairs of bright little eyes. Quickly ascertaining that Mother Bruin was not present, he paused beneath the tree and called, in as stern a voice as he could assume, "Come down out of my apple tree, you little thieves!"

The more timid bear climbed to a higher branch, but the male cub sat comfortably, his feet dangling, one paw holding to the branch and the other to the trunk, and looked down at the man. His expression so resembled that of a small boy caught stealing apples, that the Hermit laughed aloud and Pal trotted up to see what was going on.