THE END OF THE TRAIL 135 
formed about him, since one of the surgeons was a 
friend of mine. 
Mr. Weldon spent a month in the hospital in 
Boston, and the surgeons felt that the operation 
had been successful. During his convalescence I 
took him one day to the Fells Reservation, to call 
upon the bear. As we walked about among the 
cages, I so managed that we came on Bruno’s 
quarters suddenly. The bear, as we stopped in the 
path directly in front of his cage and only a few 
feet away, was standing on his hind-legs at his 
full height. 
“That can’t be Bruno!” exclaimed Weldon, as 
he gazed in wonder at the huge beast. Then, 
addressing the bear, he soliloquized : ‘When I saw 
you last, you was a little cub and only weighed 
eleven pounds. My God,” he added in a husky 
awe-struck voice, still speaking to the bear, ‘when 
I think of what you was in my family and what 
you have done for me and mine! Great Heaven, 
ain’t it wonderful, Mr. Underwood,” he said to 
‘me, “how this thing has turned out?” 
A week later I received this characteristic letter 
from the friendly grocer :— 
I went to the stable at 4.30 this morning, to 
feed my horse, and on my return I noticed a famil- 
iar smile playing around (or nearly around) the 
