Dorothy was not a little alarmed now, for his huge forepaws were on a level with the eaves, while his blunt, black snout was quite several inches above the sod roof.  What if he could manage to spring on to it after all!  He opened his mouth, and she could see his cruel yellow jagged teeth and the grey-ribbed roof of his mouth.  He moved his head about and seemed preparing for a spring.  Dorothy raised the stout pole high above her head with both hands, and, with all the strength that was in her supple frame, brought it down crash upon the brute’s head.

Bruin must assuredly have seen stars, and thought that a small pine tree had fallen on him, for he dropped on all-fours again with his ideas considerably mixed—­so mixed, indeed, that he had not even the sense to go round to the other side of the house, where there was a huge snowdrift by which he might possibly have reached the roof.  But, being a persevering bear, and having a tolerably thick head, not to speak of a pressing appetite, he again reared himself against the log wall with the intention of scrambling up.  On each occasion that he did this, however, the girl brought the influence of the pole to bear upon him, causing him to change his mind.  Dorothy began to wonder if it were possible that a blacksmith’s anvil could be as hard as a bear’s skull.

But at last Bruin grew as tired of the futile game as Dorothy of whacking at him with the pole, and, disgusted with his luck and with himself, withdrew to the neighbourhood of the corral fence, either to wait until the girl came down, or to think out a new plan of campaign.

As for Dorothy, she seated herself as best she could on an old tin that had once contained biscuits, and which, with various other useless articles, littered the roof.  She was quite comfortable, and the sun was warm—­in fact, almost too much so.  She was conscious, indeed, that her moccasins were damp.  In future she would wear leather boots with goloshes over them during the day, and only put on moccasins when it became cold in the evening.  She knew that in a few days the snow would have disappeared as if by magic, and that a thousand green living things would be rushing up from the brown, steaming earth, and broidering with the promise of a still fuller beauty the quickening boughs.

But what was delaying her father and the others?  Surely, if the fence and slip-rails were across the trail where they said they were, the rush of the horses must have been checked, and they would be on their way back now.  But she could neither see nor hear anything of their approach.  It was stupid to be sitting up there on the roof of a house with nothing save a bear—­fortunately at a respectable distance—­for company, but perhaps under the circumstances she ought to be very thankful for having been able to reach such a haven at all.  Besides, the day was remarkably pleasant—­almost summer-like—­although there was slush under-foot.  Everywhere she could hear the snow falling in great patches from the trees and the rocks.  The bare patches of earth were beginning to steam, and lawn-like vapours were lazily sagging upwards among the pines as the sun kissed the cold cheek of the snow queen.