“Why, yes,” said she.
“And isn't it black?”
“Yes,” said she.
“Then it is a bear,” said Caleb, half-delighted, and half afraid, “Isn't it, grandmother? I'll go and get the gun.”
There was an old gun behind the high desk, in the back sitting-room; but it had not been loaded for twenty years, and had no back upon it. Still Caleb always supposed that some how or other it would shoot.
“Shall I, grandmother?” said he eagerly,
“No,” said she. “I don't think it is a bear.”
“What then?” said Caleb.
“I think it is Cherry.”
“Cherry!” said Caleb.