"And she never did!" concluded Uncle Andy, rising and stretching his legs. "Those two were not reformed, you may be sure. But they kept clear, after that, of the Boy's strawberry patch, and of all scarecrows. It's time we were getting back to camp for supper, or Bill will be feeling sour."
"But you haven't told me," protested the Babe, who had a most tenacious memory, "why those crows all flew away out of the pine-top so suddenly, as if they had just remembered something. And you haven't told me why you'd rather be a humming-bird than a crow. And you haven't—"
But Uncle Andy stopped him.
"If you think I'm going to tell you all I know," said he, "you're mistaken. If I did, you'd know as much as I do, and it wouldn't be any fun. Some day you'll be glad I've left something for you to find out for yourself."
CHAPTER III
YOUNG GRUMPY AND THE ONE-EYED GANDER
"My gracious! What's that?" cried the Babe, and nearly jumped out of his boots. A gray thing had come right at him, with an ugly, scurrying rush. The bushes and bracken being thick, he had not got a very clear view of it—and he did not stop to try for a better one. In two seconds he was back at Uncle Andy's side, where the latter sat smoking on his favorite log by the water.
The Babe's eyes were very wide. He looked a bit startled.
"It ran straight at me!" he declared. "What could it have been?"
"A bear, I suppose!" said Uncle Andy sarcastically.