“Happy,” said the boy, “expecting you.”
So the old Bear climbed up. “Ah, indeed,” said he, as he got over the edge of the house, “have you made the bow?”
“Yes, after a fashion.”
So the Bear went over, raised himself on his hind feet, looked at the bow, pulled it, and said, as he laid it down: “It is a splendid bow. What is this black stuff on these arrows?”
“Obsidian,” answered the boy.
“These points are nothing but black coals,” said the Bear.
“I tell you,” said the boy, “they are good, black, flint arrow-heads, hard and sharp as any others.”
“No,” said the other, “nothing but coals.”
“Now, suppose you let me try one of those coals on you,” said the boy.
“All right,” said the Bear. He walked over to the other side of the roof and stood there, and the boy took one of the arrows, fitted it to the bow, and let go. It went straight into the heart of the Bear, and even passed through him entirely.