Such a supper! Why, Mrs. Littlefield had warm biscuits and honey, just as if she knew they were the very things Pollio liked best. And after tea Mr. Littlefield took him on his knee, and told him a bear-story, which was so funny that I wish I could tell it myself, only I can’t make you laugh as the Quaker would have done.
“THE CUB THAT WAS WHIPPED.
“Once a man was out hunting; and, as he was climbing a steep hill, he met a little cub. He thought maybe it had no father and mother, and he would like to carry it home. But, when he took it up in his arms, the cub cried out and made such a noise that its mother heard it from the top of the hill, and came tumbling down, heels over head, to see what was the matter.
“The man dropped the cub in a moment, and ran and hid behind a tree; for he had left his gun in the valley, and dared not meet the bear without it. He lay very still while the bear hunted everywhere to see what it was that had been troubling her cub. He was so afraid she would find him! But she could not smell him, for the wind was the wrong way; and she could not see him, for the tree hid him completely.
“At last she gave it up, and thought the cub had been crying out for fun, and just to tease her.
“But oh, she was so angry! And what do you think she did to teach her child better manners? She caught up that little cub, and whipped it as hard as she could with her paw! The poor thing cried just like a baby, and the man could not help laughing as he lay there behind the tree. He pitied the little creature, for it did not deserve the whipping; but it certainly was very funny.
“When the bear had punished it as long as she thought proper, she growled as if to say, ‘Don’t you ever let me know of your doing this again;’ and then she and her baby trotted off to their den, and the man hurried home as fast as he could.”
Mr. Littlefield said this was a true story, for the hunter had told it to him with his own lips.
The rest of the visit was lovely. The carriage was mended next morning, and in the afternoon the children were to start for home. Hop-clover had one of the late chickens in a little box of cotton-wool, and a cup of dough with which to feed it on the way. She thought she could keep the chicken in the back-room at home, and, when the nights grew colder, it should sleep with her in her own bed.