for his
visit, because he had completely out-talked his companion and moreover
was carrying back a present of five pounds of honey, which, as the old
man had a sweet tooth, the only tooth he had, was most acceptable.

Just after leaving the farmhouse, the way led through a deep woods
which overhung the road, making it quite dark in places.

It happened that on this same evening Black Bruin went forth on one of
his nightly prowls.

It was a moonlight night and the wood-mice were out in force,
scampering about and squeaking, having the finest kind of a play. In
the course of his stalking this small game, Black Bruin came to within
a few rods of the road. He was sniffing about an old log which smelled
strongly of mice when a fresh puff of the wind brought him a strong
man-scent.

At this dread odor the hair rose upon his neck and fear told him to
slip quietly away in the opposite direction from which the scent came.

He was about to obey this instinct when the wind again freshened and a
new odor filled his nostrils. It was not as strong as the man-scent
and it did not fill him with fear, but with delight. It made his mouth
drip saliva and filled him with an insatiate craving for something, he
could not remember just what.

Then the old sweet smell, that was to him what whisky is to the
drunkard, brought back a familiar picture. It was of a farmhouse with
barns and many out-buildings. There were hens, ducks and turkeys in
the yard and back of the house was a row of beehives that always
emitted this ravishing odor.

It was honey, and at the realization Black Bruin could almost hear the
low droning of the hive, or the angry zip, zip of the bees about his
ears as he robbed them.

Again the night-wind brought the man-scent and the smell of honey. The
former filled him with fear and the latter with delight. Again and
again he tested the wind, weighing the two odors, and at last the honey
conquered.

The man might fill him with thorns and prickers from his thunder and
lightning stick, but he must have some of that honey.

Grandpa Butterfield was walking leisurely along humming a psalm tune,
as was his wont when well pleased with the world, when he thought he
heard something behind him in the road.

He stopped and listened, but all was still. Only the usual
night-sounds came to his ears. But when he moved on, he felt sure that
the footsteps again followed.

At last he reached a point where the moonlight f