The hermit was forced to admit that he never had.
"Ah! well, you really must try it some day," said Bruin. "There is nothing like it, after all. Nothing like it! I will confess to you," he added in a low tone, and looking cautiously about to make sure that they were alone, "that I have missed it sadly this winter. In most respects this has been the happiest season of my life, and I have enjoyed it more than I can tell you; but still there are times,—when I am tired, you know, or the weather is dull, or Coon is a little trying, as he is sometimes,—times when I feel as if I would give a great deal for a quiet corner where I could suck my paw and sleep for a week or two."
"Couldn't you manage it, somehow?" asked the hermit, sympathetically.
"Oh, no! no!" replied the good bear, decidedly. "Coon thinks the Madam would not like it. He is very genteel, you know,—very genteel indeed, Coon is; and he says it wouldn't be at all 'the thing' for me to suck my paw anywhere about the place. I never know just what 'thing' he means when he says that, but it's a favorite expression of his; and he certainly knows a great deal about good manners. Besides," he added, more cheerfully, "there is always plenty of work to do, and that is the best thing to keep one awake. But now, Mr. Baldhead, it is time for your dinner, sir; and here am I sitting and talking, when I ought to be warming your broth!"
With these words the excellent bear arose, put away the backgammon board, and proceeded to build up the fire, hang the kettle, and put the broth on to warm, all as deftly as if he had been a cook all his life. He stirred and tasted, shook his head, tasted again, and then said,—
"You haven't the top of a young pine-tree anywhere about the house, I suppose? It would give this broth such a nice flavor."
"I am afraid not!" said the hermit, laughing. "I don't generally keep a large stock of such things on hand. But I fancy the broth will be very good without it, to judge from the last I had."
The bear still looked dissatisfied. "Do you ever put frogs in your broth?" he asked, presently. "Whole ones, you know, rolled in a batter, just like dumplings?"
"No!" said the hermit, quickly and decidedly. "I am quite sure I should not like them, thank you,—though it was very kind of you to make the suggestion!" he added, seeing that Bruin looked disappointed.
"You have no idea how nice they are," said the good bear, rather sadly. "But you are so strange, you people! I never could induce Toto or Madam to try them, either. I invented the soup myself,—at least the frog-dumpling part of it,—and made it one day as a little surprise for them. But when I told them what the dumplings were, Toto choked and rolled on the floor, and Madam was quite ill at the very thought, though she had not begun to eat her soup. So Coon and Cracker and I had it all to ourselves, and uncommonly good it was. It's a pity for people to be so prejudiced."