“How’s that, Miss Bunnair? W’y sure, he was hibernatin’! They all hibernate up in them cold 250 countries. Well, the funny part of this was that Old Brin had gone to sleep suckin’ his off fore foot, jest like a little baby, and when I had piled in on top of him I had knocked his paw out of his mouth and he was tryin’ to git it back. But he was all quilled up with himself under them leaves, and his claws was so long he couldn’t git that foot back into his mouth nohow. He snooped and grabbed and fumbled, and every minute he was gittin’ madder and madder, a-suckin’ and slobberin’ like a calf tryin’ to draw milk out of the hired man’s thumb, and a-gruntin’ and groanin’ somethin’ awful.
“Well, I see my finish in about a minute if he ever got good an’ woke up, so I resolved to do somethin’ desprit. I jest naturally grabbed onto that foot and twisted it around and stuck it into his mouth myself! Afraid? Ump-um, not me––the only thing I was afraid of was that he’d git my hand and go to suckin’ it by mistake. But when I steered his paw around in front of him he jest grabbed onto that big black pad on the bottom of his foot like it was m’lasses candy, and went off to sleep again as peaceful as a kitten.”
The man from Coloraydo ended his tale abruptly, with an air of suspense, and Kitty Bonnair took the cue.
“What did I do then?” demanded Lightfoot, with 251 a reminiscent smile. “Well, it was a ground-hog case with me––if I moved I’d freeze to death and if I knocked his paw out’n his mouth again he’d mash my face in with it––so I jest snuggled down against him, tucked my head under his chin, and went to sleep, holdin’ that paw in his mouth with both hands.”
“Oh, Mr. Lightfoot,” exclaimed Kitty, “how could you? Why, that’s the most remarkable experience I ever heard of! Lucy, I’m going to put that story in my book when I get home, and––but what are you laughing at, Mr. Creede?”
“Who? Me?” inquired Jeff, who had been rocking about as if helpless with laughter. “W’y, I ain’t laughin’!”
“Yes, you are too!” accused Miss Kitty. “And I want you to tell me what it is. Don’t you think Mr. Lightfoot’s story is true?”
“True?” echoed Creede, soberly. “W’y, sure it’s true. I ain’t never been up in those parts; but if Bill says so, that settles it. I never knew a feller from Coloraydo yet that could tell a lie. No, I was jest laughin’ to think of that old bear suckin’ his paw that way.”
He added this last with such an air of subterfuge and evasion that Kitty was not deceived for a moment.