34 TRUE BEAR STORIES. 



the music. Every now and then one of 

 them would lift up a paw and gently tap 

 the ground, as if to keep time with the 

 music. And both my papa and Lyte said 

 next 1 day that those bears really wanted to 

 dance. 



And that is all there is to say about that, 

 except that my father was the gentlest gen- 

 tleman I ever knew and his influence must 

 have been boundless; for who ever before 

 heard of any hunter laying down his rifle 

 with a family of fat black bears holding 

 the little snow-white v.foss on their breasts 

 almost within reach of its muzzle? 



The moon came up by and by, and the 

 chin of the weary fiddler sank lower and 

 lower, till all was still. The oxen lay down 

 and ruminated, with their noses nearly 

 against us. Then the coal-black bears 

 melted away before the milk-white moon, 

 and we slept there, with the sweet breath 

 of the cattle, like incense, upon us. 



But how does a bear die? Ah, I had for- 

 gotten. I must tell you of death, then. 



