“But what would she do when the lumbermen came back?” demanded the Babe anxiously.

“By that time,” answered Uncle Andy, putting away his pipe and rising to go, “she would no longer be the Little Sly One!  She’d be big enough to take care of herself—­and run away as soon as she heard them coming.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE DARING OF STRIPES TERROR-TAIL

“What would you do if a bear came at you, Uncle Andy?” inquired the Babe.

“Run,” said Uncle Andy promptly, “unless I had a gun!”

The Babe thought deeply for a moment.

“And what would you do if a little, teeny, black-and-white striped skunk came at you?” he asked.

“Run like sixty!” responded Uncle Andy, still more promptly.

“But a skunk’s so little!” persisted the Babe.  “Will he bite?”

“Bite!” retorted Uncle Andy scornfully.  “He doesn’t have to.  It appears to me you don’t know skunks very well!”

“Huh!” said the Babe.  “I’ve smelt ’em.  But smells can’t hurt anybody.”

“With your notions of skunks,” answered Uncle Andy, “you’re going to get yourself into a heap of trouble one of these days.  I’d better tell you about what happened once when a small young skunk, out walking all by himself in the dewy twilight, happened to meet a large young bear.”

Now, the Babe had a great respect for bears.

“Huh!” said he scornfully.  “What could he do to a bear?”

“The little skunk’s name,” said Uncle Andy, paying no heed to the interruption, “was Stripes Terror-Tail.  He was a pretty fellow, black and glossy, with two clear white stripes down his back on each side of his backbone.  His tail was long and bushy, and carried high in a graceful curve; and he was about the size of a half-grown kitten.

“Generally he went hunting with the rest of his family, for the Terror-Tails are affectionate and fond of each other’s companionship.  But each one does just as he likes, in his easy way; so on this particular evening little Stripes had strolled off by himself over the dewy hillocks, catching fat crickets in the dim twilight, and hoping every minute that he might find a ground sparrow’s nest under some bush.”

“Did he rob birds’ nests?” asked the Babe, remembering that this, for boys, was one of the deadly sins.

“He certainly did!” said Uncle Andy, who didn’t like to be interrupted.  “That is, when he had a chance.  Well, as luck would have it, a young bear was out nosing around the hillocks that evening, amusing himself with the fat crickets.  He wasn’t very hungry, being chock full of the first blueberries.

“He would sit back on his haunches, like a tremendous, overgrown black puppy, with his head tilted to one side, his ears cocked shrewdly, and a twinkle in his little dark eyes; and with one furry forepaw he would pat a thick bunch of grass till the frightened crickets came scurrying out to see what was the matter.  Then he would almost fall over himself trying to scoop them all up at once—­and while he was chewing those he’d caught he’d look as disappointed as anything over those that got away.