to do to make it feel that it is among friends; but it was a mistake—­it went into such fits at the sight of the kangaroo that I was convinced it had never seen one before.  I pity the poor noisy little animal, but there is nothing I can do to make it happy.  If I could tame it—­but that is out of the question; the more I try the worse I seem to make it.  It grieves me to the heart to see it in its little storms of sorrow and passion.  I wanted to let it go, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  That seemed cruel and not like her; and yet she may be right.  It might be lonelier than ever; for since I cannot find another one, how could it?

Five months later.—­It is not a kangaroo.  No, for it supports itself by holding to her finger, and thus goes a few steps on its hind legs, and then falls down.  It is probably some kind of a bear; and yet it has no tail—­as yet—­and no fur, except upon its head.  It still keeps on growing—­that is a curious circumstance, for bears get their growth earlier than this.  Bears are dangerous —­since our catastrophe—­and I shall not be satisfied to have this one prowling about the place much longer without a muzzle on.  I have offered to get her a kangaroo if she would let this one go, but it did no good—­she is determined to run us into all sorts of foolish risks, I think.  She was not like this before she lost her mind.

A fortnight later.—­I examined its mouth.  There is no danger yet:  it has only one tooth.  It has no tail yet.  It makes more noise now than it ever did before—­and mainly at night.  I have moved out.  But I shall go over, mornings, to breakfast, and see if it has more teeth.  If it gets a mouthful of teeth it will be time for it to go, tail or no tail, for a bear does not need a tail in order to be dangerous.

Four months later.—­I have been off hunting and fishing a month, up in the region that she calls Buffalo; I don’t know why, unless it is because there are not any buffaloes there.  Meantime the bear has learned to paddle around all by itself on its hind legs, and says “poppa” and “momma.”  It is certainly a new species.  This resemblance to words may be purely accidental, of course, and may have no purpose or meaning; but even in that case it is still extraordinary, and is a thing which no other bear can do.  This imitation of speech, taken together with general absence of fur and entire absence of tail, sufficiently indicates that this is a new kind of bear.  The further study of it will be exceedingly interesting.  Meantime I will go off on a far expedition among the forests of the north and make an exhaustive search.  There must certainly be another one somewhere, and this one will be less dangerous when it has company of its own species.  I will go straightway; but I will muzzle this one first.

Three months later.—­It has been a weary, weary hunt, yet I have had no success.  In the mean time, without stirring from the home estate, she has caught another one!  I never saw such luck.  I might have hunted these woods a hundred years, I never would have run across that thing.