It was full noon and cloudy as they walked noiselessly down the slope to the lonely little pond in the lap of the hills. At last they paused among a mass of boulders.
“Now, keep still. I ordered a man up last evening late to put a black kelt on the beach at the far side, where a brook comes in. I fancied it might fetch Mr. Bear.” So saying, Carington adjusted his glass, and searched with care the curved line of the farther shore.
“Look there! It’s a good half-mile or more.”
The boy took the glass.
“There are some water-weeds in a bunch, and above—oh, a black thing! A bear!”
“Come,” said Carington, “you will want a skin for Miss Rose. Come.”
The boy went after him, and the long walk around the lake began. The way was hard.
“We must go well back up over that hill, and then down the gorge which carries the stream.”
At times the elder person glanced back at the noiseless, tough little fellow. “Tired?” he said, as they broke with care through the alders.
“Awful,” said Jack.