e," Brumle-Knute replied; "but the big bears, they are a
curiously unreasonable lot--they are apt to get mad when you fire at
their little ones. Next time you must recollect to take the big bear
into account."

I need not tell you that the Sons of the Vikings became great heroes
when the rumor of their bear hunt was noised abroad through the valley.
But, for all that, they determined to disband their brotherhood.
Wolf-in-the-Temple expressed the sentiment of all when, at their last
meeting, he made a speech, in which these words occurred:

"Brothers, the world isn't quite the same now as it was in the days
when our Viking forefathers spread the terror of their name through the
South. We are not so strong as they were, nor so hardy. When we mingle
blood, we have to send for a surgeon. If we steal princesses we may go
to jail for it--or--or--well--never mind--what else may happen. Heroism
isn't appreciated as once it was in this country; and I, for one, won't
try to be a hero any more. I resign my chieftainship now, when I can do
it with credit. Let us all make our bows of adieu as bear hunters; and
if we don't do anything more in the heroic line it is not because we
can't, but because we won't."

PAUL JESPERSEN'S MASQUERADE

There was great excitement in the little Norse town, Bumlebro, because
there was going to be a masquerade. Everybody was busy inventing the
character which he was to represent, and the costume in which he was to
represent it.

Miss Amelia Norbeck, the apothecary's daughter, had intended to be Marie
Antoinette, but had to give it up because the silk stockings were too
dear, although she had already procured the beauty-patches and the
powdered wig.

Miss Arctander, the judge's daughter, was to be Night, in black tulle,
spangled with silver stars, and Miss Hanna Broby was to be Morning, in
white tulle and pink roses.

There had never BEEN a masquerade in Bumlebro, and there would not have
been one now, if it had not been for the enterprise of young Arctander
and young Norbeck, who had just returned from the military academy in
the capital, and were anxious to exhibit themselves to the young girls
in their glory.

Of course, they could not afford to be exclusive, for there were but
twenty or thirty families in the town that laid any claims to gentility,
and they had all to be invited in order to fill the hall and pay the
bills. Thus it came to pass that Paul Jespersen, the book-keeper in