“But he must be got away,” she said.  “We can’t have a bear here.  He must be taken away some way or other.  Isn’t there any place where he could be put until the Italian comes back?”

“That Dago’s never comin’ back,” said the boy, solemnly.  “If you’d a-seen him scoot, you’d a-knowed that he was dead skeered, and would never turn up here no more, bear or no bear.”

Mrs. Chester looked at me.  She was greatly worried, but she was also amused, and she could not help laughing.

“Isn’t this a dreadful predicament?” she said.  “What in the world am I to do?” At this moment there was an acidulated voice from the kitchen.  “Mrs. Whittaker wants to see you, Mrs. Chester,” it cried, “right away!”

“Oh, dear!” said she.  “Here is more trouble!  Mrs. Whittaker is an invalid lady who is so nervous that she could not sleep one night because she heard a man had killed a snake at the back of the barn, and what she will say when she hears that we have a bear here without a master I do not know.  I must go to her, and I do wish you could think of something that I can do;” as she said this she looked at me as if it were a natural thing for her to rely upon me.  For a moment it made me think of the star that had winked the night before.

Mrs. Chester hurried into the house, and in company with the stable-man I crossed the yard towards the bear.

“You are sure he is gentle?” said I.

“Mild as milk!” said the man.  “I was a-playin’ with him last night.  He’ll let you do anything with him!  If you box his ears, he’ll lay over flat down on his side!”

When we were within a few feet of the bear he sat upright, dangled his fore paws in front of him, and, with his head on one side, he partly opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue.  “I guess he’s beggin’ for his breakfust,” said John.

“Can’t you get him something to eat?” I asked.  “He ought to be fed, to begin with.”

The man went back to the kitchen, and I walked slowly around the bear, looking at the chain and the post, and trying to see what sort of a collar was almost hidden under his shaggy hair.  Apparently he seemed securely attached, and then—­as he was at the end of his chain—­I went up to him and gently patted one paw.  He did not object to this, and turning his head he let his tongue loll out on the other side, fixing his little black eyes upon me with much earnestness.  When the man came with the pan of scraps from the kitchen I took it from him and placed it on the ground in front of the bear.  Instantly the animal dropped to his feet and began to eat with earnest rapidity.

“I wonder how much he’d take in for one meal,” said John, “if you’d give him all he wanted?  I guess that Dago never let him have any more’n he could help.”

As the bear was licking the tin pan I stood and looked at him.  “I wonder if he would be tame with strangers?” said I.  “Do you suppose we could take him away from this post if we wanted to?”