“I’m so sorry,” apologized the huntsman. “I thought it was a porcupine.”
“Oh, then you didn’t mean to do it,” forgave the little girl.
It was decided that the huntsman had better not go with the children lest he frighten the fawn still further away.
“Dapple! Come, Dapple!” they called gently, as they traced the staggering footprints. They came upon the little creature lying on her side. Tenderly the boy carried her home in his arms, and the Ranger removed the bullet and bound the wound up properly.
Such an appealing invalid as Dapple made, with her great, reproachful eyes, that Fuzzy felt himself neglected. The day came, though, when the wounded leg was well. That day Dapple was allowed to follow them into the cabin, and even Fuzzy-Wuzz gave her a lick with his warm, moist tongue.
CHAPTER X
TINY FOLK AND THEIR TROUBLES
ONE thing that always interested the little bear was the robin who used to bring her fat fledglings, nearly as big as herself, to the Ranger’s lawn.
She had made her big clay nest on a beam of the porch, where the young birds would be sheltered from wind and rain. The young robins would flop to the ground, when she urged them, then hop around after Mrs. Red-breast as she pulled grubs and worms from the ground for them. They soon learned to look for the crumbs the children threw them. Fuzzy would watch, and sometimes make a playful dash at them; but at such times they would suddenly find they could fly out of reach.
Another time a humming-bird flew in through the open window and began sipping nectar from the bunch of wild flowers the children had brought for the dining-table. Tiniest of birds, he made as much noise as any airplane that size could have made. The children held as still as mice while they watched.