Susan looked blankly at Gentilla.
“Oh, what a long time we’ve been here,” said she forlornly. “It must be nearly night.”
“Nearly night,” echoed Gentilla.
She sat down on the floor with her back against the wall, leaving Susan alone on guard. She shut her eyes, her head nodded once or twice, and when Susan next glanced at her she lay on the floor sound asleep.
“Oh, Gentilla, wake up! I’m afraid to stay here alone. Wake up!” began poor Susan, who at that moment would have welcomed the company of even a fly buzzing on the window-pane. But the thought of Grandmother’s speech silenced her.
“I won’t wake her up, and I won’t cry either,” thought she. And pressing her face against the window, she bravely watched the empty road for a five minutes that actually seemed to her two hours long.
All kinds of dreadful thoughts began to come to Susan’s mind. Were there bears in the woods, and at nightfall would they come lumbering out, and, pushing the door open, squeeze her and Gentilla to death in a mighty bear hug? What if Grandfather had made a mistake and the Indians had not all gone away years ago! Suppose they should carry her off and stain her brown with berry juice, like the little girl in her story book, so that, even if Grandfather should see her, he would never know that it was his black-eyed Susan, but would think she was a real true little Indian girl.
Susan gave a start of horror and almost screamed out loud. Up the road this moment there came prowling a big dark animal.
“Gentilla, Gentilla, here’s a bear!” called Susan in a frenzy. “Wake up and help me! Here’s a bear! Oh! Oh! He’s coming after us! Gentilla! Gentilla!—Why, it’s Snuffy! Snuffy! Snuffy! save me!”
And Susan’s cries of fright changed into those of joy and hope as soon as she saw that the great brown bear was none other than shaggy, comfortable, homelike Snuff.