“I will be his mother,” said the Wolf.
“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “your teeth are too sharp.”
“I will be his mother,” said the Deer.
“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “you are always traveling. Your husband would carry little Footsteps Upon the Water on his back wherever he went, and the little boy would have no home in the winter.”
“I will be his mother,” said the good old Bear; “I have a warm house in the rocks with plenty to eat in my pantry,—berries, and nuts, and honey.”
“You may have little Footsteps Upon the Water,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “but be sure that your cubs do not teach him any rough tricks.”
So Footsteps Upon the Water went home to the Bear’s house, a cave in the rocks, with little rooms just like a real house. It was a fine place in which to live.
All summer the little boy played with the cubs. When it was late in the fall, and the days were short and dark, and the nights were cold, Mother Bear tucked them all in bed and they slept until spring.
Then came another summer, and other Bear people stopped to call upon them, saying:
“We know a fine berry patch.”