"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."