"And such good companions."

"Yes; they never embarrass you," she went on. "You never feel at
loss for a word."

"I fear you do not know bears."

"Dieu! better than men. Voila!" she exclaimed, touching me with
the end of her parasol. "You are not so terrible. I do not think
you would bite."

"No; I have never bitten anything but--but bread and doughnuts, or
something of that sort."

"Come, I desire to intimidate you. Won't you please be afraid of
me? Indeed, I can be very terrible. See! I have sharp teeth."


She turned with a playful growl, and parting her crimson lips,
showed them to me--white and shapely, and as even as if they had
been wrought of ivory. She knew they were beautiful, the vixen.

"You terrify me. I have a mind to run," I said, backing off,

"Please do not run," she answered quickly. "I should be afraid
that--that--"

She hesitated a moment, stirring the moss with one dainty foot.