“I didn't see him.” Don looked disgusted. “But he was in our house last night.”
“Look here now, stop that!” said Don, gripping Hughie by the jacket and shaking him.
But Hughie's summer in the harvest-field had built up his muscles, and so he shook himself free from Don's grasp, and said, “Look out there! I'm telling you the truth. Last night father was out late and the supper things were left on the table—some honey and stuff—and after father had been asleep for a while he was wakened by some one tramping about the house. He got up, came out of his room, and called out, 'Jessie, where are the matches?' And just then there was an awful crash, and something hairy brushed past his leg in the dark and got out of the door. We all came down, and there was the table upset, the dishes all on the floor, and four great, big, deep scratches in the table.”
“Pshaw! It must have been Fido.”
“Fido was in the barn, and just mad to get out; and besides, the tracks are there yet behind the house. It was a bear, sure enough, and I'm going after him.”
“You?”
“Yes, and I want you to come with the dogs.”
“Oh, pshaw! Dear knows where he'll be now,” said Don, considering.
“Like enough in the Big Swamp or in McLeod's beech bush. They're awful fond of beechnuts. But the dogs can track him, can't they?”
“By jingo! I'd like to get him,” said Don, kindling under Hughie's excitement. “Wait a bit now. Don't say a word. If Murdie hears he'll want to come, sure, and we don't want him. You wait here till I get the gun and the dogs.”