ou do if a bear came at you, Uncle Andy?" inquired the
Babe.

"Run," said Uncle Andy promptly, "unless I had a gun!"

The Babe thought deeply for a moment.

"And what would you do if a little, teeny, black-and-white striped
skunk came at you?" he asked.

"Run like sixty!" responded Uncle Andy, still more promptly.

"But a skunk's so little!" persisted the Babe. "Will he bite?"

"Bite!" retorted Uncle Andy scornfully. "He doesn't have to. It
appears to me you don't know skunks very well!"

"Huh!" said the Babe. "I've smelt 'em. But _smells_ can't hurt
anybody."

"With your notions of skunks," answered Uncle Andy, "you're going to
get yourself into a heap of trouble one of these days. I'd better tell
you about what happened once when a small young skunk, out walking all
by himself in the dewy twilight, happened to meet a large young bear."

Now, the Babe had a great respect for bears.

"Huh!" said he scornfully. "What could _he_ do to a bear?"

"The little skunk's name," said Uncle Andy, paying no heed to the
interruption, "was Stripes Terror-Tail. He was a pretty fellow, black
and glossy, with two clear white stripes down his back on each side of
his backbone. His tail was long and bushy, and carried high in a
graceful curve; and he was about the size of a half-grown kitten.

"Generally he went hunting with the rest of his family, for the
Terror-Tails are affectionate and fond of each other's companionship.
But each one does just as he likes, in his easy way; so on this
particular evening little Stripes had strolled off by himself over the
dewy hillocks, catching fat crickets in the dim twilight, and hoping
every minute that he might find a ground sparrow's nest under some
bush."

"Did he rob birds' nests?" asked the Babe, remembering that this, for
boys, was one of the deadly sins.

"He certainly did!" said Uncle Andy, who didn't like to be interrupted.
"That is, when he had a chance. Well, as luck would have it, a young
bear was out nosing around the hillocks that evening, amusing himself
with the fat crickets. He wasn't very hungry, being chock full of the
first blueberries.

"He would sit back on his haunches, like a tremendous, overgrown black
puppy, with his head tilted to one side, his ears cocked shrewdly, and
a twinkle in his little dark eyes; and with one furry forepaw he would
pat a thick bunch of grass till the frightened crickets came scurrying
out to see what was the matter. T