bear,
An' they rolled down-hill together, an' the critter
ripped the air,
An' I didn't dast t' shoot him for fear o' killin' Zeb,
So I clubbed my rifle on the bear an' mellered up his
head."
Moist with perspiration, Silas Strong rose and stood by the bedside and blew. Fifty miles with a boat on his back could not have taxed him more severely. He answered a few queries touching the size, fierceness, and fate of the bear. Then he retreated, whispering as he left the door, "Strong's ahead."
Zeb lay on the foot of the bed, and Socky, being a little timid in the dark, coaxed him to lie between them, his paws on the pillow. With their hands on the back of Zeb, they felt sure no harm could come to them.
"Do you love Uncle Silas?" It was the question of little Sue.
Socky answered, promptly, "Yes; do you?"