"Good-by!" cried all the others.
And with many a backward glance, and many a wave of paw, or tail, or fluttering wing, the party of friends took their way to the forest home.
Boy Toto stood with his hands in his pockets, looking after them with bright, wide-open eyes. He did not cry,—it was a part of Toto's creed that boys did not cry after they had left off petticoats,—but he felt that if he had been a girl, the tears might have come in spite of him. So he stared very hard, and puckered his mouth in a silent whistle, and felt of the marbles in his pockets,—for that is always a soothing and comforting thing to do.
"Toto, dear," said his grandmother, "do you think our Bruin is really gone, without saying a word of farewell to us?"
"So it seems!" said the boy, briefly.
"I am very much grieved!" cried the old lady, putting her handkerchief to her sightless eyes,—"very, very much grieved! If it had been Coon, now, I should not have been so much surprised; but for Bruin, our faithful friend and helper, to leave us so, seems—"
"Hello!" cried Toto, starting suddenly, "what is that noise?"
Both listened, and, lo! on the quiet air came the sharp crashing sound of an axe.
"He's there!" cried the boy. "He isn't gone! I'll go—" and with that he went, as if he had been shot out of a catapult.