“Do not give yourself another thought upon the subject,” I said.  “I will settle the whole matter, and nobody need be frightened or disturbed.  The Cheltenham Hotel is only a few miles farther on, and I shall have to walk there anyway.  I will start immediately and take the bear with me.  I am sure that he will allow me to lead him wherever I please.  I have tried him, and I find that he is a great deal gentler than most children.”

She exclaimed, in horror:  “You must not think of it!  He might spring upon you and tear you to pieces!”

“Oh, he will not do that,” I answered.  “He is not that sort of a bear—­and, besides, he is securely muzzled.  I muzzled him myself, and he did not mind it in the least.  Oh, you need not be afraid of the bear; he has had his breakfast and he is in perfect good-humor with the world.  It will not take me long to reach the hotel, and I shall enjoy the walk, and when I get there I will be sure to find some shed or out-house where the beast can be shut up until it can be decided what to do with him.  I can leave him there and have him legally advertised, and then—­if nothing else can be done—­he can be shot.  I shall be very glad to have his skin; it will be worth enough to cover his bill here, and the damages to my bicycle.  I shall send for that as soon as I reach the hotel.  I can go to Waterton by train and take it with me.  I can have it made all right in Waterton.  So now, you see, I have settled everything satisfactorily.”

She looked at me earnestly, and, although there was a certain solicitude in her gaze, I could also see there signs of great relief.  “But isn’t there some other way of getting that bear to the hotel?” she said.  “It will be dreadful for you to have to walk there and lead him.”

“It’s the only way to do it,” I answered.  “You could not hitch a bear behind a wagon—­the horse would run away and jerk his head off.  The only way to take a bear about the country is to lead him, and I do not mind it in the least.  As I have got to go without my bicycle I would like to have some sort of company.  Anyway, the bear must go, and as I am on the road to the Cheltenham I shall be very glad to take him along with me.”

“I think you are wonderfully brave,” she said, “and very good.  If I can persuade myself it will be perfectly safe for you, it will certainly be a great relief to me.”

I was now engaged in a piece of self-sacrifice, and I felt that I must do it thoroughly and promptly.  “I will go and get my valise,” I said, “for I ought to start immediately.”

“Oh, I will send that!” she exclaimed.

“No,” I answered; “it does not weigh anything, and I can sling it over my shoulder.  By-the-way,” I said, turning as I was about to leave the room, “I have forgotten something.”  I put my hand into my pocket; it would not do to forget that I was, after all, only a departing guest.

“No, no,” she replied, quickly, “I am your debtor.  When you find out how much damage you have suffered, and what is to be done with the bear, all that can be settled.  You can write to me, but I will have nothing to do with it now.”