"Why, that's to-day, you young gump!" cried the bear, "and your answer still leaves me in the fog as to your age—whether it's eleven or twelve.'
"I was eleven years old the last time, and I was to be twelve years old the next time, whenever that might be."
"Better and better," quoth the bear, with an approving nod, "and now I shouldn't be surprised if he were prepared to tell us whose son he is. Can you tell us that?"
"Oh, yes, sir, very easily!"
"Then why don't you, and prove it?"
"My pap's name is Jervis Whitney, and my mam's name is Elster Whitney;" and the poor little runaway choked as he pronounced the dear names.
Whereupon, as if musing on what he had just heard, the bear made that peculiar sound, which, uttered through the nose, with the lips closed, amounts to a doubtful, undecided yes: "Oo-hooh"—then a pause—"he says his pap's name is Jervis Whitney."
"Yes, sir, and my grandpap's name is Jervis Whitney, too," added Sprigg, thinking that the fuller he gave his pedigree, the more satisfactory might prove his information, "and I have an uncle who goes by the name of Benjamin Whitney, who was shot through the knees at the battle of Brandywine, so that he now goes about on wooden legs."
"And the better husband for his pegs, too, I warrant you," quoth the bear, "for he will stick by his wife so long as she will stick to him."
"Yes, sir, and I have another uncle, who goes by the name of——"