to pencil his last will and testament upon the rocky floor of the den.  What was his surprise to see the lion advance amicably and extend his right forefoot!  Androcles, however, was equal to the occasion:  he met the friendly overture with a cordial grasp of the hand, whereat the lion howled—­for he had a carpet-tack in his foot.  Perceiving that he had made a little mistake, Androcles made such reparation as was in his power by pulling out the tack and putting it in his own foot.

After this the beast could not do too much for him.  He went out every morning—­carefully locking the door behind him—­and returned every evening, bringing in a nice fat baby from an adjacent village, and laying it gratefully at his benefactor’s feet.  For the first few days something seemed to have gone wrong with the benefactor’s appetite, but presently he took very kindly to the new diet; and, as he could not get away, he lodged there, rent-free, all the days of his life—­which terminated very abruptly one evening when the lion had not met with his usual success in hunting.

All this has very little to do with my story:  I throw it in as a classical allusion, to meet the demands of a literary fashion which has its origin in the generous eagerness of writers to give the public more than it pays for.  But the story of Androcles was a favourite with the bear whose adventures I am about to relate.

One day this crafty brute carefully inserted a thorn between two of his toes, and limped awkwardly to the farm-house of Dame Pinworthy, a widow, who with two beautiful whelps infested the forest where he resided.  He knocked at the open door, sent in his card, and was duly admitted to the presence of the lady, who inquired his purpose.  By way of “defining his position” he held up his foot, and snuffled very dolorously.  The lady adjusted her spectacles, took the paw in her lap (she, too, had heard the tale of Androcles), and, after a close scrutiny, discovered the thorn, which, as delicately as possible, she extracted, the patient making wry faces and howling dismally the while.

[Illustration]

When it was all over, and she had assured him there was no charge, his gratitude was a passion to observe!  He desired to embrace her at once; but this, although a widow of seven years’ standing, she would by no means permit; she said she was not personally averse to hugging, “but what would her dear departed—­boo-hoo!—­say of it?” This was very absurd, for Mr. Boo-hoo had seven feet of solid earth above him, and it couldn’t make much difference what he said, even supposing he had enough tongue left to say anything, which he had not.  However, the polite beast respected her scruples; so the only way in which he could testify his gratitude was by remaining to dinner.  They had the housedog for dinner that day, though, from some false notion of hospitable etiquette, the woman and children did not take any.