oyment of the feast. He helped
the baby to get on board. The great mass of iron used in the work
chanced to be raised to the top of the framework, and in the space
underneath, between the timbers was a cozy niche in which to sit and
eat. The boy and baby sat down there and proceeded to business.

It occurred to the boy that he had done a tolerably good thing. He
didn't analyze the situation particularly, but he had an idea that
eating on the barge was fun. The platform rocked gently, the air was
crisp and keen, a smell of the pine woods came over the river, and
Johnny felt pretty well. He thought this having charge of things all by
himself was by no means bad.

"Whoosh!"

Born in the backwoods though he had been, Johnny did not at first
recognize that sound--half grunt, half snort, and full of a terrible
meaning. He sprang to his feet and looked up the bank. There, gazing
down upon the pair on the platform, was a big black bear!

The beast looked fierce and hungry. The weather had been cold, and bears
which had not gone into winter quarters were all savage. A yearling
steer had been killed by one in the woods a few days before. The
attention of the brute upon the bank seemed fixed upon the baby. There
was something in its fierce eyes indicating that it had found just what
it needed. If there was anything that would make a meal just to its
taste that day it was baby--fat baby, about two years old. It gave
another "whoosh!" and came lumbering down the bank.

For a moment Johnny stood panic-stricken; then instinctively he
clutched the baby--that individual kicking and protesting wildly at
being dragged away from luncheon--and stumbled toward the other end of
the barge. As Johnny and the baby reached one end, the bear came down
upon the other, and shuffled rapidly toward them. There was slight hope
for the fleeing couple, at least for the baby. That personage seemed
destined for a bear's dinner that day. Suddenly the bear hesitated. He
had reached the remains of the dinner.

Part of what Johnny's mother had provided for the midday repast was
bread and butter, plentifully besmeared with honey. If a bear, big or
little, has one weakness in this world it is just honey. He will do for
honey what a miser will do for gain, what a politician will do for
office, what a lover will do for his sweetheart, what some women will do
for dress. For that bear to pass that bread and honey was simply an
impossibility. He would stop and