AT GORDON’S CAMP 33 
other exhibition, and they asked me to fire another 
shot. So I took a picture of the baby sister in her 
mother’s lap. She was now nearly nine months 
old, and in order that there should be plenty of 
food for her foster-brother, she was being weaned, 
and occasionally they fed her on that good old New 
England stand-by, baked beans and pork. It may 
be seen by referring to her picture that the diet 
agreed with her. 
As I had hoped to buy the bear and take him 
home with me, I had brought a nursing-bottle 
and some cans of condensed milk— then a rare 
commodity in the woods—so that he could be 
well fed on his journey to Boston. Diluting the 
milk with warm water, I now filled the bottle, and 
the oldest child gave Bruno his first commercial 
food. Stretched out on the table-top, with his fat 
little body sagging down on the oilcloth cover, he 
took his new fare with apparent relish. 
This pleased me very much, for now I should 
have no trouble about feeding him on the way 
home. It soon proved, however, that I had been a 
little “previous” in my calculations, for when I 
asked Mrs. Weldon how much money she wanted 
for the bear, I received an instant rebuff. 
“Sell my cub? I guess not!” she exclaimed 
with great indignation; and then added: “Why, 
Mr. Underwood, you have n’t got money enough 
