d when I said good-night to them, and they were locked
up in Michael's stable, their howls were so loud that one might have
supposed the greatest possible disaster had overtaken each one of them.
I heard them howling and barking very miserably as I walked away with
Michael into the forest, and for a mile their distressed voices were
audible--really it was very flattering to me, I thought!

Arrived at the spot where Bruin's repast had been laid out, Michael
pointed out to me the tree which he had selected as my ambush. It was
indeed the only convenient one, standing as it did close to the place
where the bear must stop to eat the supper arranged for him. So I
climbed up into the branches, old Michael handing up my warm coat and
rug, and settled myself as comfortably as possible in a place where a
natural couch in the fork of the tree seemed to offer an inviting spot
for slumber, while Michael bade me good-night and went off. I heard his
footsteps for ten minutes as he tramped away into the darkness and
silence of the forest; then these died away, and I was left alone with
my thoughts and with the stillness and ghostliness of the night.

Things get a bit on one's nerves under these circumstances, and I felt
very far from being sleepy. I started when a gust of wind caused some
pine-tree to utter a groan; every rustle of twig upon twig sent the
blood to my pulses--was the bear coming? Nevertheless, I did eventually
fall asleep unawares, and it must have been early morning, about two
o'clock, when I awoke with a start. A sound had roused me--what was it?
I listened: undoubtedly the bear was here and busy over his meal; there
was a gobbling and grunting, and the noise of greedy satisfaction. I was
not nervous now; my sleep had done me good. If only I could see the
brute, to point my rifle at him! I could just distinguish in the
darkness a black mass which might be he, but it would be useless to risk
a shot. So I waited with what patience I could muster, which was very
little, and listened to the gobbling beneath me, and longed for
daylight.

And as I sat and listened a new sound suddenly reached my ears--as I was
a born Briton there were those wretches, Duke and Monarch and York,
still crying for me in Michael's stables, maybe two miles away! How
sounds do travel in the silence of night-time; probably a gust of wind
from that direction had brought me this tale of their devotion to their
new friend! Well, if so, they must be