"I should like to know, Peter, who set that trap. If my father was here, he'd have him in the lock-up."
"Poh! it wasn't set for dogs," replied Peter, in an equally cross tone, for both the boys were tired, hungry, and out of sorts. "Don't you know nothin'? That's a bear-trap!"
"A bear-trap! Do you have bears up here?"
"O, yes, dear me, suz: hain't you seen none since you've been in the State of Maine? I've ate 'em lots of times."
Peter had once eaten a piece of bear-steak, or it might have been moose-meat, he was not sure which; but at any rate it had been brought down from Moosehead Lake.
"Bears 'round here?" thought Horace, in a fright.
He quickened his pace. O, if he could only be sure it was the right road! Perhaps they were walking straight into a den of bears. He hugged little Pincher close in his arms, soothing him with pet names; for the poor dog continued to moan.
"O, dear, dear!" cried Peter, "don't you feel awfully?"
"I don't stop to think of my feelings," replied Horace, shortly.
"Well, I wish we hadn't come—I do."