sorts ; and the common stuffs, like flour, 

 butter, and baking-powder, brought 

 fifty miles on horseback, were good 

 enough only to be thrown about the 

 ground or rolled in. Jack had just torn 

 open the last bag of flour, and Jill was 

 puzzling over a box of miner's dy- 

 namite, when the doorway darkened 

 and there stood Kellyan, a picture of 

 amazement and wrath. Little Bears 

 do not know anything about pictures, 

 but they have some acquaintance with 

 wrath. They seemed to know that they 

 were sinning, or at least in danger, and 

 Jill sneaked, sulky and snuffy, into a 

 dark corner, where she glared defi- 

 antly at the hunter, Jack put his head 

 on one side, then, quite forgetful of all 

 his misbehavior, he gave a delighted 

 grunt, and scuttling toward the man, 

 he whined, jerked his nose, and held 

 up his sticky, greasy arms to be lifted 



