Ivan enlarged the hut; in the evening he lit the fire
in it, and closed the door carefully that the warmth should not be too
quickly dissipated. But in spite of all, the three--the old man, the
child and the bear--had, towards morning, to nestle close together in
order not to be frozen.

Anjuta was much alone and became tired of solitude, when Ivan spent
whole days hunting. "Mischka, do you hear Grandfather shooting?" she
would ask the bear when the dull sound of a distant shot came to their
ears.

A great change had taken place in Mischka. His fur had become thicker
and shaggier, he had grown considerably and often disappeared in the
forest in order to hunt on his own account. When he came home, gorged
and unwieldy, he showed no inclination to play, but lay down to sleep.
Once the little girl wished to rouse him from his slumber, and seized
him somewhat roughly by the ears. The creature uttered a loud roar,
reared on his hind-legs, showing his teeth, and when the unsuspecting
child stretched out her hand, laughing to her refractory playfellow, she
was suddenly struck down by a blow from one of its paws.

In the evening Ivan found his pet with a scratched and much-swollen
cheek. He chastised the snapping bear severely in spite of Anjuta's
supplications and tears, and tied it up for the night. The next morning
the rope was found broken and the bear had vanished. It was not till two
days afterwards that Mischka appeared again between the pine-trunks and
approached the hut hesitatingly; but when he saw his master standing on
the threshold, he sat down and sucked his paw in an embarrassed manner.

"Come along, you tramp!" Ivan called to him. "Has hunger driven you home
at last, you rascal!" Mischka, feeling deeply injured, turned round and
trotted away without heeding the cajoling calls of his little companion.

"One who is born a tramp, remains a tramp," said Ivan.

"Let him run! Don't cry, Anjuta; you will get a better playfellow."

The leaves of the birch turned yellow and the maples looked as if
splashed with blood. Their leaves trembled as though with cold. Light as
feathers and quite dry, they eddied long in the air before they sank to
their funeral in the colourless grass.

"How cold it is, Grandfather! Will it never be warm again?"

"Wait a little; soon there will come St. Martin's summer which will
bring us warmth. Before it is really winter, I will dig for us both a
hole deep in the ground, so that we ca