MAY-TIME IN THE FOREST 45 
doubtless, inherited, for all black bears are good 
wild-bee hunters. They highly prize wild honey, 
and when they find a bee tree quickly tear it apart. 
With paws and face daubed with the gluey golden 
liquid, and besieged by thousands of angry buzz- 
ing bees, Bruin enjoys his stolen fruit. Grunting 
with satisfaction, he champs his jaws, stopping now 
and then to sneeze, and with his sticky paws to 
wipe away the swarm of infuriated insects that are 
crawling over his face and eyes. His fur is so thick 
and heavy that his enemies seldom find a vulner- 
able point of attack. 
But our Bruno had no enemy to fight when he 
ate his honey, of which there was a good stock in 
Gordon’s camp. Oh, no, the pampered pet — 
honey was fed to him in an iron spoon. His beady 
black eyes rolled around in ecstasy, while his round 
woolly sides twitched with pleasure and excite- 
ment, as, smacking his lips, he wound his long pink 
tongue round the honey-covered spoon. 
We had brought in with us some fruit and candy 
for the children. While they were receiving these 
little gifts with shouts of delight, we heard a curi- 
ous scratching noise under the table — and there 
was Bruno in the middle of our suit-case, over- 
hauling the contents with his mischievous paws. 
Collars and socks, neckties and hair-brushes, were 
scattered hither and yon, as in frantic haste he 
