"Not generally. He's a good-tempered brute, most times like a lamb. But
he ain't had nothing to eat all day, so it wouldn't be surprising if he
was a bit snappish."

"Nothing to eat!" echoed Keith. "You poor old thing!" Going a step
closer, he put out his hand and stroked the bear, as if it had been a
great dog.

"Oh, Malcolm, just feel how soft his fur is, like mamma's beaver jacket.
And he has the kindest old face. Poor old fellow, is you hungry? Never
mind, Keith'll get you something to eat pretty soon."

Putting his short, plump arms around the animal's neck, he hugged it
lovingly up to him. A cunning gleam came into the man's eyes. He saw
that he had gained the younger boy's sympathy, and he wanted
Malcolm's also.

"Is your home near here, my little gen'leman?" he asked, in a friendly
tone.

"No, we live in the city," answered Malcolm, "but my grandmother's
place, where we are staying, is not far from here." He was stroking the
bear with one hand as he spoke, and hunting in his pocket with the
other, hoping to find some stray peanuts to give it.

"Then maybe you know of some place where we could stay to-night. Even a
shed to crawl into would keep us from freezing. It's an awful cold night
not to have a roof over your head, or a crust to gnaw on, or a spark of
fire to keep life in your body."