that he did not
notice a large black body moving quietly but surely along a well-worn
trail across the swamp. And it was only when he heard a quick rush and a
snort of rage that he realized his danger.

It was the mother bear!

There was no time to tell her that he was doing no harm to her cubs.
There was no time to escape. Three tremendous leaps, and she was upon
him--almost! Then, in the very last fraction of a second, an
extraordinary thing happened. It was as if the bear's great body almost
twisted itself in the very middle of its spring. Even then, it only
missed Dusty Star's body by an inch.

"Nearly finished you _that_ time!" would have been Goshmeelee's comment,
if she had put her mind into words.

The very instant she landed she knew that Dusty Star had not touched her
cubs. It was because she recognised in a flash that it _was_ Dusty Star
she was attacking, which had made her last fatal spring fall short of
its mark. Even then, it was a moment or two before she fully recovered
from the effect upon her nerves.

"Don't do it again!" she seemed to say, looking at the boy out of her
little glittering eyes.

Dusty Star gave her to understand that far from doing it again, he had
never meant to do it once. Bear babies he regarded as absolutely
untouchable, beautiful and bulgy though they were. Somehow or other,
Goshmeelee believed him. She thrust her great head and shoulders into
the hollow, and began to lick the cubs with her enormous tongue. This
was not so much for cleaning perhaps, as to comfort herself after her
anxiety. The cubs hated being cleaned. One sweep of that great tongue
was warranted to spring-clean a cub down all one side from throat to
tail. And if the cub objected, a huge paw would deftly turn him over and
clean the other side with aggravating thoroughness. It was an added
annoyance to the cubs to be washed so late in the day. What they wanted
at that hour was food, not washing--extra nourishment, not extra tongue.
They squealed and wriggled and gave miniature growls and tried to bite
their mother's paw. Their behavior was very wicked indeed. Goshmeelee,
being used to their wickedness, calmly went on cleaning.

When she had finished, she backed out of the hollow and sat down to look
at Dusty Star; and her look said as plainly as possible, "What are you
going to do?"

[Illustration: HER LOOK SAID AS PLAINLY AS POSSIBLE, "WHAT ARE YOU GOING
TO DO?"]

Dusty Star had not decided upon doing