"Sir!" mockingly echoed the bear. "Sir! and is 'Sir' all a boy has to say for himself, who dodged my moonshine? I knew that much before. Now, sir, to the purpose, and tell me something I don't know."
"Yes, sir," which was as near to the purpose as anything the boy could think of just then. His grim questioner looked at him with so hard a countenance that it kept his scared wits from performing the very office demanded of them.
"Now, there is some sense in that," remarked the bear, with a grim smile and with a nod of the head to the right, as if the comment was intended for his ear, who stood there; and Sprigg could see that the moccasins shook, as if the wearer were laughing heartily.
"Having discovered that he has a tongue," continued the bear, "we will now take a fresh start and find out, if we can, what stuff the cub is made of. Now, sir, what's your name?"
"Sprigg," replied the boy, glad to have an opportunity, at last, of saying something to the purpose.
"Is that an English name, or Indian name?" inquired the bear.
"It is my name, sir; and you can see that I am not an Indian, by my coonskin cap."
"Bless a body!" exclaimed the bear, "but that was well turned. Now, sir, as you are getting a little glib, will you go still further and tell us how old you are?"
"Twelve years old, sir, next June-day come a year," replied the boy, in the peculiar sing-song way in which old-fashioned children were wont to answer the question.