“Oh, if she could only lie still an’ not preathe a pit!” said the lad to himself. “She can’t, an’ it makes a noise. She wishes the pear would come an’ smell her an’ go.”
But the new arrival was too busy, and made Watty, as he lay there on his face, moist with perspiration, wonder how so big a beast could be so long eating so small a quantity of food.
At last the boy felt as if he could endure no more, and that he must make a leap to his feet and run for his life. He knew that the thing to do would be to draw a very deep breath, make a sudden effort, and run, for the suffering from lying there those brief minutes, which seemed to be like hours, was more than he could endure.
He had made up his mind to try, but his heart sank, and he lay a little longer. A second time he tried to screw himself up to the sticking-point, but failed, and lay panting, till all at once, just as he was saying to himself, “She must to it ta third time,” the bear uttered a low “Ah-ah-ah!” and the lad sprang to his feet.
“That’s right, Watty; get me a drink of water.”
“Meester Stevey!” exclaimed the lad. “Oh! oh! oh!” he half sobbed, and, throwing himself again upon the ground, he buried his face in his hands, and lay gently rolling from side to side, trying to stifle the hysterical fit which had attacked him; for it was mingled with relief from what he had looked upon as certain death, anger with himself for making such a blunder, and delight at Steve’s return.
“Why, Watty, what’s the matter?” cried Steve. “I do believe he’s crying. Get up. Did you think I was dead?”
“Yes, we all tought you wass teat, an’ I tought the pear wass come to eat me, ant—ant—ant—she’s ferry clad to see you acain, though she don’t like you.”
“Well, you are a rum chap, Watty! I say, you didn’t mind my snatching away that meat? I couldn’t help it, I was nearly starved.”
“No, she ton’t mind,” replied the lad. “She’d hat a little pit o’ meat pefore. But she’s all scratted, an’ her het pleets, an’ she’s cot no skin on her knuckles!”