Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
nearly forgotten his early days and his mother’s 
death, but his nose had not, and the smell of Bear 
had brought it back, and driven him forth in a ter- 
ror stampede. 
That was why he had heard without heeding the 
old, familiar whistle call. 
But the fear was over now; therein lies courage, 
not to be without fear, but to overcome it. And 
Foam rioted around, circling full tilt through the 
bushes around Lizette, stopping short and stock- 
stil in the pathway, head down, eyes twinkling, 
till Lizette made a pass at him with a stick. Then 
away he went, careering, pirouetting, and snorting 
the little joy snorts that in pig talk stand for ‘‘Hal 
ha! ha!” 
Thus they neared the house, when all at once the 
metry pig was gone. Foam stood like a pointer at 
a certain spot. His bristles rose, his eyes snapped 
green, and his jaws, well armed already, were champ- 
ing till they foamed. Lizette came near to stroke 
him; he stepped aside, still champing, and now she 
saw and understood: they were crossing the fresh 
trail of the Bear; that terrible odour was on it. 
But—and this escaped Lizette at the time—the 
actions of Foam now no longer told of fear; that he 
had overcome: this pose, his deep-voiced ‘‘ woof,” 
his menacing tusks, his green-lit eyes, though he 
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