lie, rather startled.

"It would mean that a bear came up, put his paws in through the window,
knocked the pan cover off and took the pudding," was the answer.

"Well, I'm not so much afraid of bears as I am of tramps," said Aunt
Sallie, with a smile. "I almost wish it was a bear!"

But it was not. In the light covering of newly fallen snow under the
pantry window, through which the pudding had been taken, were the marks
of a man's feet. Big feet they were, with heavy shoes, for the prints of
the hob nails could be seen in the snow.

Uncle Toby looked at the marks for several minutes. He and Aunt Sallie
and the children could see where the man, whoever he was, had come out
of the woods, walked up to the open window, and, after standing about
and tramping to and fro, had marched back to the woods again.

"It looks as if he came here, looked in, saw the pudding, and started
away without taking it," said Uncle Toby, as he looked closely at the
big footprints in the snow. "Then he turned back, because he was so
hungry he just couldn't leave that pudding there in plain sight, I
suppose. He took it and went back to the woods with it to eat it."

"Who was he?" asked Tom.

"That I don't know," Uncle Toby replied. "He must be a stranger around
here, for anybody else would ask for something to eat if he were
hungry. And most of the folks around here are well enough off to get
their own Thanksgiving dinner. They don't have to take other folks'
pudding."

"That's so," said Aunt Sallie. "I wish it hadn't happened, even though I
don't mind a poor hungry man having my nice pudding."

"Is your dog a bloodhound?" asked Harry of Ted, as the boys remained
looking at the footprints in the snow, after the girls had gone back
into the house with Aunt Sallie.

"Oh, no, Skyrocket isn't a bloodhound," answered Ted. "Why?"

"Well, I thought maybe if he was he could smell at these marks in the
snow and then track the man to where he was and we could get back the
pudding," Harry went on.

"Guess there wouldn't be much of the pudding left," said Tom, with a
laugh.

"No," agreed Ted. "Anyhow, Skyrocket isn't a bloodhound, and I don't
believe he'd know how to track a man down."

And evidently Skyrocket didn't take much interest in the strange
footprints in the snow, for, after sniffing them once or twice, he raced
away to chase a snowbird which flew down to get the crumbs Aunt Sallie
scattered from the dinner table. Of course Skyrock