trembled at the sight of her mother, lying there in a heap, so still."

Uncle Andy's way of putting it was somehow so vivid that the Child
trembled too at that.

"After a while," continued Uncle Andy, "when she saw that her mother
made no sign of rising and coming to her, she came staggering down from
her place under the bush, her long, awkward legs very difficult to
manage. Reaching her mother's side, she poked her coaxingly with her
wet little muzzle. Meeting no response, she poked her impatiently, and
even butted her. When even this brought no response, a sudden
overwhelming terror chilled her heart, and her weak knees almost gave
way. She had an impulse to run from this thing that looked like her
mother and smelled like her mother, and yet was evidently, after all,
not her mother. She was afraid to stay there. But she was also afraid
to go away. And then she just began to bawl again at the top of her
voice, for she was not only frightened and lonely, but also hungry.

"Of course, everything in the woods for half a mile around heard her
bawling."

And just here Uncle Andy had the heartlessness to pause and relight his
pipe.

"And then--another bear came!" broke in the Child breathlessly.

"No, not exactly," responded Uncle Andy at last. "Of course, lots of
things came to see what all that queer noise was about--stealthy
things, creeping up silently and peering with round bright eyes from
thickets and weed tufts. But the calf did not see or notice any of