“The mountains don’t matter,” the girl laughed. “I can’t ever remember names. But mountains. There are always bears in mountains.”
The little French girl’s look suddenly went very sober. She seemed ready to burst into tears. Little wonder, for only one short month before she had buried her pet and pal, Tico the bear. Tico had shared her joys and sorrows for many a year. With him as her dancing partner, she had achieved notable success. Now he was gone. So, too, it seemed, were her chances of ever dancing on the stage again.
“He’s gone,” she thought with a sigh, “My pal.”
Tico’s illness had cost her much money. He had been given all the care of a gentleman of importance, and had been buried in a formal manner. Now the little French girl was poor, and Tico was gone forever.
“Bears,” she repeated, pulling herself together, “bears in the mountains. Wild bears. Not tame ones.”
“Yes, wild bears!” the old man said as if taking his cue. “Six ferocious wild bears. I met them all in the Alleghenys—or was it the Rockies?”
“The Cumberlands,” laughed Jeanne.
“Yes, that’s it, the Cumberlands. Six wild, hungry, man eating bears. They formed a circle about me and sat there on their haunches with their tongues lolling.
“They were ready to eat me. And what did I do?”
“What did you do?”