“Doll shall not be forgotten, if we can only house our honey,” answered the bee-hunter; “nor Blossom, neither.  I’ve a fancy, already, for that blossom of the wilderness, and shall do all I can to make myself agreeable to her.  A man cannot approach a maiden with anything sweeter than honey.”

“Some gals like sugar’d words better; but, let me tell you one thing, STRANger-”

“You have eaten bread and salt with me, Whiskey, and both are scarce articles in a wilderness; and you’ve slept under my roof:  is it not almost time to call me something else than stranger?”

“Well, Bourdon, if you prefer that name; though STRANger is a name I like, it has sich an up and off sound to it.  When a man calls all he sees STRANgers, it’s a sign he don’t let the grass grow in the road for want of movin’; and a movin’ man for me, any day, before your stationaries.  I was born on the sea-shore, in the Bay State; and here I am, up among the fresh-water lakes, as much nat’ralized as any muskelunge that was ever cotch’d in Huron, or about Mackinaw.  If I can believe my eyes, Bourdon, there is the muzzle of a bear to be seen, jist under that heavy hemlock—­here, where the bees seem thickest!”

“No doubt in the world,” answered le Bourdon, coolly; though he had taken the precaution to look to the priming of each of his pieces, as if he expected there would soon be occasion to use them.  “But what was that you were about to say concernin’ Blossom?  It would not be civil to the young woman to overlook her, on account of a bear or two.”

“You take it easy, STRANger—­Bourdon, I should say—­you take it easy!  What I was about to say was this:  that the whull lake country, and that’s a wide stretch to foot it over, I know; but, big as it is, the whull lake country don’t contain Blossom’s equal.  I’m her brother, and perhaps ought to be a little modest in sich matters; but I an’t a bit, and let out jist what I think.  Blossom’s a di’mond, if there be di’monds on ’arth.”

“And yonder is a bear, if there be bears on earth!” exclaimed le Bourdon, who was not a little amused with Gershom’s account of his family, but who saw that the moment was now arrived when it would be necessary to substitute deeds for words.  “There they come, in a drove, and they seem in earnest.”

This was true enough.  No less than eight bears, half of which, however, were quite young, came tumbling over the logs, and bounding up toward the fallen tree, as if charging the citadel of the bees by preconcert.  Their appearance was the signal for a general rally of the insects, and by the time the foremost of the clumsy animals had reached the tree, the air above and around him was absolutely darkened by the cloud of bees that was collected to defend their treasures.  Bruin trusted too much to the thickness of his hide and to the defences with which he was provided by nature, besides being too much incited by the love of honey, to regard the little heroes, but thrust