es and
discomforts of a journey, when every hour is bringing him nearer and
nearer to his own dear fireside, with its loving hearts.

Well, little Joe went whistling and whittling along, thinking of Bill
Sykes and his arrows. Half a mile was no great distance to go; he might
finish one arrow going along; that is, if his jack-knife didn't break,
or if he didn't whittle off one of his fingers by mistake. He wished
the wood wasn't quite so hard: he wondered whether Bill Sykes would
make _his_ arrows of hickory: he wondered whether Bill's brother Tom,
wouldn't make them for him--just as like as not, now, he would, and
then Bill would be _sure_ to have the best ones: too bad! Joe wished
_he_ had a brother, too; he wished----ph-e-w! What's that?

A _bear_! as sure as you are alive! (and may _not_ be long.) What's to
be done now? Joe was a nice fat little boy, and the bear might be
hungry. He wasn't afraid: pooh!--no. A little backwoods boy afraid?
They are made of different stuff than the little ruffled-collar boys
that tag about with the nursery maid at their heels, in Broadway.

Joe examined his jack-knife, and took another look at the bear, as he
lay behind the bushes. Old Bruin was fast asleep.

All right;--Joe's mother wouldn't have to wait for her flat-irons; so
he stepped carefully along (not to disturb Bruin's nap) and reached
Aunt Elsie's, with a whole skin.

Aunt Elsie was very glad to see Joe, for she loved children, and always
ran to the cupboard to get them a piece of wholesome frontier pie, or
gingerbread, or bit of hoe-cake; but Joe said he couldn't stop; because
his mother had her clothes already sprinkled and folded ready for the
irons, and had told him to hurry back as fast as ever he could.

Did he tell Aunt Elsie about the bear? Do you suppose a frontier boy
would take refuge under a woman's apron?

No, sir!

If you should mention such a thing to him, he would tuck up his
pinafore, roll up his jacket sleeves, and show you his little brown
fists, in a trice!

No, sir; he never _alluded_ to the bear, but taking a flat-iron in each
hand, went whistling along as if no such animal had ever walked out of
Noah's ark into the back woods.

Well, he had got through "Hail Columbia," and "Auld Lang Syne," when he
spied Bruin again; and this time he was wide awake, too.

He began whistling Yankee Doodle; first, to show his independence, and
secondly, because he knew if anything would take the nonsense out