called
the 'Sleepless One.' There is no such necessity for his
keeping awake now. Let his dreams waft him in spirit to
the Happy Hunting Grounds. As for me, I am getting an
old man, whose arrow-hand lacks strength to pull back
the string of the bow. It can be but a few short years
before I enter upon the long, last sleep, so it matters
not Sleep, brother."

But Black Bull Pup, as is often the case, was tender of
heart as well as choleric, and hastened to say that his
venerable comrade must take some much-needed rest, so
that within five minutes the ugly Cropped-eared one was
making the sweet hush of the summer noon hideous with
his snores, whilst Black Bull Pup was beginning to wonder
if, after all, he had not been "got at" again by his
Machiavelian friend. It was not a pleasant reflection,
and it really was a very drowsy sort of afternoon. Four
minutes later he was sound asleep himself.

Slowly toiling up the stony, sun-dried bed of the tarn
came Pepin the dwarf, and alongside him, showing unusual
signs of animation--he had scented brother bears--came
Antoine. Behind them walked the unstable breed, Bastien
Lagrange, with a huge pack upon his back. The pack was
heavy and the hill was steep, so that the human beast of
burden perspired and groaned considerably. He also showed
much imagination and ingenuity in the construction of
strange words suitable to the occasion. Pepin's ears had
just been assailed by some extra powerful ones when he
turned to remonstrate.

"Grumbler and discontented one," he said, "have your long
legs grown weak at the knees because you are asked to
carry a few pennyweights on your back?"--the breed was
resting his several hundred pounds pack upon a rock--"Bah!
it is nothing compared to the load of things you will
have to carry and answer for when you have to appear
before the Great Court, when the bolt has been drawn and
you are launched into space through the prison trap-door,
and your toes go jumpety-jumpety-jump. Blockhead!"

"_Parbleu, M'sieur_ Pepin, _mais_ eet ees mooch dead
would be more better than this, I tink it! _Helas!_ how
my heart eet does go for to break! I would for to rest,
Pepin, my ver' dear frient."

"Then rest, weak-kneed one, and be sure afterwards to
come on. It is good I did leave the good mother with the
Croisettes down the river! _Au revoir_, pudding-head!"

Pepin held Antoine by the neck while he surveyed the
slumbering forms of Little Running Crop-eared Do