was nothing very exciting to note. But about three in the afternoon it
became more lively.

[Illustration]

There were then four large Bears feeding on the heap. In the middle
was Fatty, sprawling at full length as he feasted, a picture of placid
ursine content, puffing just a little at times as he strove to save
himself the trouble of moving by darting out his tongue like a long red
serpent, farther and farther, in quest of the titbits just beyond claw
reach.

Behind him Slim Jim was puzzling over the anatomy and attributes of
an ancient lobster. It was something outside his experience, but the
principle, "In case of doubt take the trick," is well known in Bearland,
and it settled the difficulty.

The other two were clearing out fruit-tins with marvellous dexterity.
One supple paw would hold the tin while the long tongue would dart again
and again through the narrow opening, avoiding the sharp edges, yet
cleaning out the can to the last taste of its sweetness.

This pastoral scene lasted long enough to be sketched, but was ended
abruptly. My eye caught a movement on the hilltop whence all the Bears
had come, and out stalked a very large Blackbear with a tiny cub. It was
Grumpy and Little Johnny.

The old Bear stalked down the slope toward the feast, and Johnny hitched
alongside, grumbling as he came, his mother watching him as solicitously
as ever a hen did her single chick. When they were within thirty yards