"I cannot imagine," answered Kathie. "But," she added, "I think we had better hurry away, for fear its mother may come in search of it."
"Oh, Kathie, no; he is too cunning and pretty. I cannot give him up. See how he nestles up to me, and how affectionate he is."
"But the mother, Laura, would be very cruel to us. I have heard terrible tales of children hugged to death by bears."
"I don't believe he has a mother," said Laura, eagerly. "I think his mother has probably been killed, and that he has come to us to be taken care of. You need not look so doubtful, Kathie. Perhaps this was his home, this very nook of ours where we have been sleeping, and he has come seeking his mother, poor little cub, and not finding her, has lain down here for warmth and comfort. I mean to keep him and take him home with me. Now, Kathie, be good and help me, and you shall see what a dear pet he will make. I think he is just as cunning and pretty as he can be, and we will train him to do all sorts of funny things."
Still Kathie looked anxious; but the cub wakened and whined, and ate some oat-cake from Laura's hand, and when they rose to begin their walk he trotted after them, as if afraid they were about leaving him. But Laura was too delighted with the idea of a new pet to think of leaving him, and Kathie and she took turns in carrying the little creature when it appeared to be tired; for, now they were nearing home, Laura's steps were quicker, and the way seemed far less difficult.
"How glad I shall be to see the dear Motherkin again!" said Laura, as they rested for a while in the cool shadow of a great tree at whose roots babbled a clear brook.
Kathie looked sad and weary and homesick.
"And how glad she will be to see you, Kathie dear!"
"Do you think so, Laura? I am so unused to strange faces, and so afraid, that I almost wish you had left me in the woods."
"Ah, don't speak that way, Kathie; you might have starved there all alone."