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Title: The Arkansaw Bear - A Tale of Fanciful Adventure
Author: Paine, Albert Bigelow, 1861-1937
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Arkansaw Bear - A Tale of Fanciful Adventure" ***

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Cantoni(This file was produced from images generously made















    COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY


    Printed in the United States of America








  CHAPTER                                                PAGE
     I The Meeting of Bosephus and Horatio                 11
    II The First Performance                               20
   III Horatio and the Dogs                                29
    IV The Dance of the Forest People                      38
     V Good-bye to Arkansaw                                46
    VI An Exciting Race                                    55
   VII Horatio's Moonlight Adventure                       64
  VIII Sweet and Sour                                      73
    IX In Jail at Last                                     83
     X An Afternoon's Fishing                              92
    XI The Road Home                                      101
   XII The Bear Colony at Last. The Parting of Bosephus
     and Horatio                                          111




[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, 'twas down in the woods of the Arkansaw,
    And the night was cloudy and the wind was raw,

[Illustration: Music]

    And he didn't have a bed and he didn't have a bite,
    And if he hadn't fiddled he'd a travelled all night."

BOSEPHUS paused in his mad flight to listen. Surely this was someone
playing the violin, and the tune was familiar.

He listened more intently.

    "But he came to a cabin and an old gray man,
    And says he, 'Where am I going? Now tell me if you can----'"

It was the "Arkansaw Traveller" and close at hand. The little boy tore
hastily through the brush in the direction of the music. The moon had
come up, and he could see quite well, but he did not pause to pick his
way. As he stepped from the thicket out into an open space the fiddling
ceased. It was bright moonlight there, too, and as Bosephus took in the
situation his blood turned cold.

In the center of the open space was a large tree. Backed up against this
tree, and looking straight at the little boy, with fiddle in position
for playing, and uplifted bow, was a huge Black Bear!

Bosephus looked at the Bear, and the Bear looked at Bosephus.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he roared.

"I--I am Bo-se-Bosephus, an' I--I g-guess I'm l-lost!" gasped the little

"Guess you are!" laughed the Bear, as he drew the bow across the

"An-an' I haven't had any s-supper, either."

"Neither have I!" grinned the Bear, "that is, none worth mentioning. A
young rabbit or two, perhaps, and a quart or so of blackberries, but
nothing real good and strengthening to fill up on." Then he regarded
Bosephus reflectively, and began singing as he played softly:--

    "Oh, we'll have a little music first and then some supper, too,
    But before we have the supper we will play the music through."

"No hurry, you know. Be cool, please, and don't wiggle so."

But Bosephus, or Bo, as he was called, was very much disturbed. So far
as he could see there was no prospect of supper for anybody but the

"You'll forget all about supper pretty soon," continued the Bear,

    "You'll forget about your supper--you'll forget about your home--
    You'll forget you ever started out in Arkansaw to roam."

"My name is Horatio," he continued. "Called Ratio for short. But I don't
like it. Call me Horatio, in full, please."


"Oh, ye-yes, sir!" said Bo, hastily.

"See that you don't forget it!" grunted the Bear. "I don't like
familiarity in my guests. But I am clear away from the song I was
singing when you came tearing out of that thicket. Seems like I never
saw anybody in such a hurry to see me as you were.

    "Now the old man sat a-fiddling by the little cabin door,
    And the tune was pretty lively, and he played it o'er and o'er;
    And the stranger sat a-list'ning and a-wond'ring what to do,
    As he fiddled and he fiddled, but he never played it through."

Bo was very fond of music, and as Horatio drew from the strings the
mellow strains of "The Arkansaw Traveller" he forgot that both he and
the Bear were hungry. He could dance very well, and was just about to do
so as the Bear paused.

"Why don't you play the rest of that tune, Horatio?" he asked,

"Same reason the old man didn't!" growled the Bear, still humming the

    "Oh, raddy daddy dum--daddy dum--dum--dum--

"Why!" continued Bo, "that's funny!"

"Is it?" snorted Horatio; "I never thought so!

    "Then the stranger asked the fiddler 'Won't you play the rest for me?'
    'Don't know it,' says the fiddler, 'Play it for yourself!' says he----"

"Maybe you can do what the stranger did, Bosephus--maybe you can play it
yourself, eh?" grunted the huge animal, pausing and glowering at the
little boy.

"Oh, no, sir--I--I--that is, sir, I can only wh-whistle or s-sing it!"
trembled Bo.


"Y-yes, sir. I----"

"You can sing it?" shouted the Bear, joyfully, and for once forgetting
to fiddle. "You don't say so!"

"Why, of course!" laughed Bo; "everybody in Arkansaw can do that. It
goes this way:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Then the stranger took the fiddle, with a ridy-diddle-diddle,
    And the strings began to jingle at the tingle of the bow,

[Illustration: Music]

    While the old man sat and listened, and his eyes with pleasure
    As he shouted 'Hallelujah! And hurray--for--Joe!'"

When Bo had finished, Horatio stood perfectly still for some moments in
astonishment and admiration. Then he came up close to the little boy.

"Look here, Bo," he said, "if you'll teach me to play and sing that
tune, we'll forget all about that sort o' personal supper I was planning
on, and I'll take you home all in one piece. And anything you want to
know I'll tell you, and anything I've got, except the fiddle, is yours.
Furthermore, you can call me Ratio, too, see?

    'Oh, ridy-diddy, diddy-diddy----'

how does it go? Give me a start, please."

Bo brightened up at once. He liked to teach things immensely, and
especially to ask questions.

"Why, of course, Ratio," he said, condescendingly; "I shall be most
happy. And I can make up poetry, too. Ready, now:--

    "I am glad to be the teacher of this kind and gentle creature,
    Who can play upon the fiddle in a----"

"Wait, Bo! wait till I catch up!" cried Horatio, excitedly. "Now!"

"Hold on, Ratio. I want to ask a question!"

"All right! Fire away! I couldn't get any further anyhow."

"Well," said Bo, "I want to know how you ever learned to play the

Horatio did not reply at first, but closed his eyes reflectively and
drew the bow across the string softly.

    "Oh, raddy daddy dum--daddy dum--dum--dum---

"I took a course of lessons," he said, presently, "but it is a long
story, and some of it is not pleasant. I think we had better go on with
the music now:--

    "Oh, there was a little boy and his name was Bo,
    Went out into the woods when the moon was low,
    And he met an Old Bear who was hungry for a snack,
    And his folks are still awaiting for Bosephus to come back."

"Go right on with the rest of it," said Bo, hastily.

    "For the boy became the teacher of this kind and gentle creature,
    Who can play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way."

"But I say, Ratio," interrupted Bo again, "how did it come you never
learned to play the second part of that tune?"

Horatio scowled fiercely at first, and then once more grew quite
pensive. He played listlessly as he replied:--

"Ah," he said, "my teacher was--was unfortunate. He taught me to play
the first part of that tune. He would have taught me the rest of it--if
he had had time."

Horatio drew the bow lightly across the strings and began to sing, in a
far-away voice:--

    "Oh, there was an old man, and his name was Jim,
    And he had a pet bear who was fond of him;
    But the man was very cruel and abusive to his pet,
    And one day his people missed him, and they haven't found him yet."

"Oh!" said Bo; "and w-what happened, Horatio?"

Horatio paused and dashed away a tear.

"It happened in a lonely place," he said, chewing reflectively, "a
lonely place in the woods, like this. We were both of us tired and
hungry and he grew impatient and beat me. He also spoke of my parents
with disrespect, and in the excitement that followed he died."

"Oh!" said Bo.

"Yes," repeated Horatio, "he died. He was such a nice man--such a nice
fat Italian man, and so good while--while he lasted."

"Oh!" said Bo.

Horatio sighed.

"His death quite took away my appetite," he mused. "I often miss him
now, and long for some one to take his place. I kept this fiddle,
though, and he might have been teaching me the second part of that tune
on it now if his people hadn't missed him--that is, if he hadn't been
impatient, I mean."

"Oh, Ratio!" said Bo, "I will teach you the tune all through! And I will
never be the least bit impatient or--or excited. Are you ready to begin,

"All ready! Play."

    "Oh, it's fine to be the teacher of a kind and gentle creature
    Who can play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way,
    And I'll never, never grieve him, and I'll never, never leave him,
    Till I hear the rooster crowing for the break--of--day."

"That was very nice, Bo, very nice indeed!" exclaimed Horatio, as they
finished. "Now, I am going to tell you a secret."

"Oh!" said Bo.

"I have a plan. It is to start a colony for the education and
improvement of wild bears. But first I am going to travel and see the
world. I have lived mostly with men and know a good deal of their
taste--tastes, I mean--and have already travelled in some of the States.
After my friend, the Italian, was gone, I tried to carry out his plans
and conduct our business alone. But I could only play the first part of
that tune, and the people wouldn't stand it. They drove me away with
guns and clubs. So I came back to the woods to practice and learn the
rest of that music. My gymnastics are better--watch me."

Horatio handed Bo his fiddle and began a most wonderful performance. He
stood on his head, walked on his hands, danced on two feet, three feet,
and all fours. Then he began and turned somersaults innumerable. Bo was

"It wasn't because you couldn't play and perform well enough!" he cried,
excitedly. "It was because you went alone, and they thought you were a
crazy, wild bear. If I could go along with you we could travel together
over the whole world and make a fortune. Then we could buy a big swamp
and start your colony. What do you say, Ratio? I am a charity boy, and
have no home anyway! We can make a fortune and see the world!"

At first Ratio did not say anything. Then he seized Bo in his arms and
hugged him till the boy thought his time had come. The Bear put him down
and held him off at arm's length, joyously.

"Say!" he shouted. "Why, I say that you are a boy after my own heart!
We'll start at once! I'll take you to a place to-night where there are
lots of blackberries and honey, and to-morrow we will set forth on our
travels. Here's my hand as a guarantee of safety as long as you keep
your agreement. You mean to do so, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," said Bo.

"And now for camp. We can play and sing as we go."

As the little boy took Horatio's big paw he ceased to be even the least
bit afraid. He had at last found a strong friend, and was going forth
into the big world. He had never been so happy in his life before.

"All right, Ratio!" he shouted. "One, two, three, play!"

And Ratio gave the bow a long, joyous scrape across the strings, and
thus they began their life together--Bosephus whistling and the Bear
playing and singing with all his might the fascinating strains of "The
Arkansaw Traveller":--

    "Oh, there was a little boy and his name was Bo,
    Went out into the woods when the moon was low,
    And he hadn't had his supper and his way he didn't know,
    So he didn't have a bite to eat nor any place to go.
    Then he heard the ridy-diddle of Horatio and his fiddle,
    And his knees began to tremble as he saw him standing there;
    Now they'll never, never sever, and they'll travel on forever--
    Bosephus, and the fiddle, and the Old--Black--Bear."



[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, 'twas down in the woods of the Arkansaw
    I met an Old Bear with a very nimble paw;

[Illustration: Music]

    He could dance and he could fiddle at the only tune he knew,
    And he fiddled and he fiddled, but he never played it through."

BO was awake first, and Horatio still lay sound asleep. As the boy
paused the Bear opened one eye sleepily and reached lazily toward his
fiddle, but dropped asleep again before his paw touched it. They had
found a very cosy place in a big heap of dry leaves under some spreading
branches, and Horatio, though fond of music, was still more fond of his
morning nap. Bosephus looked at him a moment and began singing again, in
the same strain:--

    "Then there came a little boy who could whistle all the tune,
    And he whistled and he sang it by the rising of the moon;
    And he whistled and he whistled, and he sang it o'er and o'er,
    Till Horatio learned the music he had never learned before."

The Bear opened the other eye, and once more reached for his fiddle.
This time he got hold of it, but before his other paw touched the bow he
was asleep again. Bo waited a moment. Then he suddenly began singing to
the other part of the tune:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Yes, he learned it all so neatly and he played it all so sweetly
    That he fell in love completely with the boy without a home;

[Illustration: Music]

    And he said, 'No matter whether it is dark or sunny weather
    We will travel on together till the cows--come--home.'"

Before Bosephus finished the first two lines of this strain Horatio was
sitting up straight and fiddling for dear life.

"Once more, Bo, once more!" he shouted as they finished.

They repeated the music, and Horatio turned two handsprings without

"Now," he said, "we will go forth and conquer the world."

"I could conquer some breakfast first," said Bo.

"Do you like roasting ears?"

"Oh, yes," said Bo.

"Well, I have an interest in a little patch near here--that is, I take
an interest, I should say, and you can take part of mine or one of your
own if you prefer. It really doesn't make any difference which you do
just so you take it before the man that planted it is up."

"Why," exclaimed the boy as they came out into a little clearing, "that
is old Zack Todd's field!"

"It is, is it? Well, how did old Zack Todd get it, I'd like to know."

"Why--why I don't know," answered Bo, puzzled.

[Illustration: "ONCE MORE, BO, ONCE MORE"]

"Of course not," said the Bear. "And now, Bosephus, let me tell you
something. The bears owned that field long before old Zack Todd was ever
thought of. We're just renting it to him on shares. This is rent day. We
don't need to wake Zack up. You get over the fence and hand me a few
of the best ears you can get quick and handy, and you might bring one of
those watermelons I see in the corn there, and we'll find a quiet place
that I know of and eat it."

Bo hopped lightly over the rail fence, and, gathering an armful of green
corn, handed it to Horatio. Then he turned to select a melon.

"Has Zack Todd got a gun, Bosephus?" asked the Bear.

"Yes, sir-ee. The best gun in Arkansaw, and he's a dead shot with it."

"Oh, he is. Well, maybe you better not be quite so slow picking out that
melon. Just take the first big one you see and come on."

"Why, Zack wouldn't care for us collecting rent, would he?"

"Well, I don't know. You see, some folks are peculiar that way. Zack
might forget it was rent day, and a man with a bad memory and a good gun
can't be trusted. Especially when he's a dead shot. There, that one will
do. Never mind about his receipt--we'll mail it to him."

Bo scrambled back over the fence with the melon and hastened as fast as
he could after Horatio, who was already moving across the clearing with
his violin under one arm and the green ears under the other.

"Wait, Ratio," called the little boy. "This melon is heavy."

"Is that a long range gun, Bo?" called back the Bear.

"Carries a mile and a half."

"Can't you move up a little faster, Bo? I'm afraid, after all, that
melon is bigger than we needed."

The boy was fat and he panted after his huge companion.

Suddenly there was a sharp report, and Bosephus saw a little tuft of fur
fly from one of his companion's ears. Horatio dodged frantically and
dropped part of his corn.


"Run zigzag, Bo!" he called, "and don't drop the melon. Run zigzag. He
can't hit you so well then," and Horatio himself began such a
performance of running first one way and then the other that Bo was
almost obliged to laugh in spite of their peril.

"Is this what you call conquering the world, Ratio?" Then, as he
followed the Bear's example, he caught a backward glimpse out of the
corner of his eye.

"Oh, Ratio," he called, "the whole family is after us. Zack Todd, and
old Mis' Todd, and Jim, and the girls."

"How many times does that gun shoot?"

"Only once without loading."

"Muzzle loader?"

"Yep," panted Bo. "Old style."

"Good! Hold on to that melon. We'll get to the woods yet."

But Horatio was mistaken, for just as they dashed into the edge of the
timber, with the pursuers getting closer every moment, right in front of
them was a high barbed-wire fence which the Todd family had built around
the clearing but a few days before. The Bear dropped his corn, and the
boy carefully, but with some haste, put down the melon. Then they
turned. The Todd family was just entering the woods--old Zack and the
gun in front. He had loaded it and was putting on the cap as he ran.

"What shall we do, Bo, what shall we do now?" groaned Horatio.

The situation was indeed desperate. Their pursuers were upon them, and
in a moment more the deadly gun would be levelled. Suddenly a bright
thought occurred to Bo.

"I know," he shouted; "dance! Horatio! dance!"

[Illustration: "DANCE! HORATIO, DANCE!"]

Horatio still had his fiddle under his arm. He threw it into position
and ran the bow over the strings. In a second more he was playing and
dancing, and Bo was singing as though it were a matter of life and
death, which indeed it was:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, there was a fine man and a mighty fine gun
    And a Bear that played the fiddle and a boy that couldn't run,

[Illustration: Music]

    And the boy was named Bosephus and Horatio the Bear,
    And they couldn't find a bite to eat for breakfast anywhere."

The Todd family stood still at this unexpected performance and stared at
the two musicians. Old man Todd leaned his gun against a tree.

    "Now they couldn't buy their breakfast for their money all was spent,
    So they dropped into a cornfield to collect a little rent;
    But they only took a melon and an ear of corn or so,
    And were going off to eat them where the butter blossoms grow."

The Todd family were falling into the swing of the music. Old Mis' Todd
and the girls were swaying back and forth and the men were beating time
with their feet. Suddenly Bosephus changed to the second part of the

[Illustration: Music]

    "But the old man got up early with a temper rather surly,
    And he chased them with his rifle and to catch them he was bound;

[Illustration: Music]

    Till he heard the ridy-diddle of Horatio and his fiddle,
    Then he shouted, 'Hallelujah, girls, and all--hands--'round!'"

The first line of this had started the Todd family. Old Zack swung old
Mis' Todd, and Jim swung the girls. Then all joined hands and circled
to the left. They circled around Bosephus and Horatio, who kept on with
the music, faster and faster. Then there was a grand right and left and
balance all--every one for himself--until they were breathless and could
dance no more. Horatio stopped fiddling and when old man Todd could
catch his breath he said to Bo:--

"Look a-here; that Bear of yours is a whole show by himself, and you're
another. Anybody that can play and sing like that can have anything I've
got. There's my house and there's my cornfield; help yourselves."

Bo thanked him and said that the corn and the melon already selected
would do for the time. To oblige them, however, he would take up a
modest collection. He passed his hat and received a silver twenty-five
cent piece, a spool of thread with a needle in it, a one-bladed
jack-knife and two candy hearts with mottoes on them--these last being
from the girls, who blushed and giggled as they contributed. Then he
said good-by, and the Todd family showed them a gate that led into the
thick woods. As the friends passed out of sight and hearing Bosephus
paused and waved his handkerchief to the girls. A little later Horatio
turned to him and said, impressively:--

"That is what I call conquering the world, Bosephus. We began a little
sooner and more abruptly than I had expected, but it was not badly done,
and, all things considered, you did your part very well, Bosephus; very
well indeed."



[Illustration: Music]

    "Blossom on the bough and bird on the limb--
    Old Black Bear sits a-grinning at him;

[Illustration: Music]

    Sawing on his fiddle and a-grinning at the jay--
    Grinning as he saws the only tune that he can play."

HORATIO leaned back against the tree and played lazily. Bosephus lay
stretched full length on the leaves, following idly with any words that
happened to fit the strain. A blue jay just over their heads bobbed up
and down on a limber branch, waiting for them to go. The Bear took up
the song as the boy paused:--

    "Boy on the bank and bird on the tree--
    Bird keeps a-bobbing and a-blinking at me;
    Bobbing and a-blinking, and a-waiting for a bite--
    Hasn't had a thing to eat since late--last--night."

"I say, Ratio," interrupted Bo. "Suppose we move on and give Mr. Jay
Bird a chance?"

Horatio grunted and rose heavily. After their adventure with the Todd
family they had come to a pleasant spot in the woods by a clear stream
of water. Bo, who had some matches in his pocket, had kindled a fire and
roasted some of the corn, much to the disgust of Horatio, who disliked
fire and asked him why he didn't roast the watermelon, too, while he was
about it. Then they had eaten their breakfast together and taken a
brief rest before setting forth again on their travels. A jay bird was
waiting to peck the gnawed ears and melon rinds. He stared at the
strange pair as they strolled away through the trees, the Bear
continuing his favorite melody.

"Ratio," said Bo, pausing suddenly, "what is that I hear scurrying
through the bushes every now and then?"

"Friends of mine, likely."

"Friends! What friends?"

"Oh, everything, most. Wild cats, wolves, foxes and a few wild bears,

"Wildcats! Bears! Wolves!"

"Why, yes. Often when I play in the moonlight they come out and dance
for me."

"Oh!" said Bo.

"I have them all dancing together, sometimes. I'll have them dance for
you before long."

"Oh, Ratio, will you?"

"Yes. It's a lot of fun, but there's no money in it, and that's what
we're after now, Bo. We're going to buy that swamp, you remember, and
start that bear colony."

Bosephus was about to reply when Horatio paused and listened. There was
the distant sound of dogs barking.

"Hello!" said Bo. "We're coming to somewhere. Now we'll give our first
regular performance. Come on, Ratio!"

Horatio hesitated.

"How many dogs do you suppose there are, Bo?" he asked anxiously.

"About a dozen, I should think, big and little."

"Little dogs, Bo? Little snapping dogs?"

"That's what it sounds like, and some hounds and a big dog or two. You
don't mind dogs, do you?"


"Oh, no, not in the least--but it's most too soon after breakfast to
give a performance, and besides, all that noise would spoil the music."

But the little boy, who still had in his pocket the two candy hearts
that had been given to him by the Todd girls, walked ahead proudly.

"You trust to me!" he said, flourishing a large stick. "I'll stop their
noise pretty quick. I'm not afraid of dogs!"

The Bear followed some steps behind, looking ahead warily.

"I'm not afraid, either, you know," he said, anxiously. "Only when there
are so many of them they get me mixed up on my notes and one of them
once had the ill manners to nip quite a piece out of my left hind leg."

Presently they came into an open space and plump upon a little
crossroads village. A gang of dogs gambolled upon the common, chasing
stray geese and barking loudly. Horatio paused.

"Come back, Bo," he whispered. "There's no money in that crowd."

But Bosephus was already some distance ahead, stick in hand, and the
dogs had spied him. They ceased barking for a moment and two or three of
the larger ones ran away. Then the little dogs began yelping again and
came on in a swarm. Bo made at them with his stick, but they dodged past
him, and in a moment more were circling and snapping around Horatio, who
was waving his violin wildly with one paw and slapping like a man
killing mosquitoes with the other.

"Quick, Bo!" he shouted. "Quick! Help! Murder!"

The little boy wanted to laugh, but ran up instead and began striking
among the bevy of dogs that were torturing his friend. Some of them
howled and ran off a few paces. Then they came flocking back. Suddenly
Horatio thrust his violin into Bo's hand and ran swiftly toward a large
tree a few yards distant. The curs followed and jumped high into the air
after him as he scrambled up to the lower limbs.

Bosephus hurried after them and struck at them so fiercely with his club
that they ran yelping away. A number of villagers, attracted by the
commotion, were now appearing from all quarters.

"Here come the people, Ratio," said Bo, grinning. "Now we can perform."

"All right, Bo," whispered the Bear, "but if you'll kindly hand me up
that fiddle I believe I'll perform right where I am."

The boy passed up the violin and the Bear struck a few notes. By this
time the people had collected. There was a blacksmith with a leather
apron, and a painter with all colors of paint on his clothes. Behind
them there came a woman with dough on her hands and another carrying a
baby. Other men and women followed in the procession, and a dozen or so
children of all ages. They halted a little way from the tree and stood
staring. Horatio sat astride a big limb and commenced playing. Suddenly
the boy threw back his head and began to sing:--

    "Oh, the dogs barked loud and the dogs barked low
    And the boy stood still and the Bear climbed the tree,
    At an Old Black Bear and a boy named Bo.
    While the people came a-running to see what they could see."

The children drew up close at the first line and held their breath to
listen. As the boy paused they shouted and screamed with laughter at the
sight of Horatio fiddling in the forks of the tree. The dogs sat in a
row and howled plaintively.

"Sing some more," cried the woman with the baby; "it amuses my little


    "Yes, the people came to see them and the dogs they ran away,
    And the boy began to sing and the Bear began to play,
    Till it tickled all the children and it made the baby crow,
    And it set the people dancing till they jumped--Jim--Crow."

"More! more!" shouted the people as they formed into cotillons and
reels. "Sing us some more!"

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, the ridy-diddle-diddle of Horatio and his fiddle,
    And the singing of Bosephus they had never heard before;

[Illustration: Music]

    And it set them all to spinning, and the music was so winning
    That they wined them and they dined them until half past four!"

"Wait! wait!" called the woman with the baby under her arm, "I'm all out
of breath."

"No, no!" shouted the children and all the others. "Go on! Go on!"

So once more and yet another time the unwearied musicians repeated their
performance, and then Bo politely passed his hat to the dancers. When he
had been to each one his hat was heavy with some money and many useful

"Bring your Bear down out of the tree," said the blacksmith, "and we
will give you a feast on the common."

Bo beckoned to Horatio to climb down, but the big fellow hesitated.

The temptation of a feast, however, was too much for him.


That night, when they had both danced again for the people and Horatio
had given them an acrobatic exhibition, they strolled away through the
evening loaded down with luxuries of all kinds. The villagers went with
them to the outskirts, and called good luck after them. As they passed
into the quiet shadows of the forest they once more heard the barking
of dogs in the distance behind them.

"We have had a good day, Bosephus," said Horatio, with a long sigh of
satisfaction. "We are on the road to fortune. To be sure, there are
little thorns along the way--"

"Dogs, for instance--and guns."

"Trifles, Bosephus; trifles. Don't give them a second thought. Of course
you are only a little boy as yet, and will outgrow these fears."

"And learn to climb trees."

"I hope you don't think I climbed that tree out of fear, Bosephus. I
merely went up there to get a better view of my audience. One should
always rise above his audience. And now let us sing softly together as
we go. It will rest us after our day of conquest."

And touching the strings lightly and singing softly together, the
friends sought leisurely their evening camp. Here and there a light
rustle in the bushes showed that the forest people were listening, and
the leaves of the forest whispered in time to their melody.



[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh! the night was warm and the moon was bright,
    And we pitched our camp in the pale moonlight;

[Illustration: Music]

    In the pale moonlight and the green, green shade,
    And we counted up together all the money we had made."

THE little boy jingled the coins in his hands, and sang reflectively to
the Bear's soft music. Their camp fire had died down to a few red
embers, and the big moon hanging in the tree-tops made all the world
white and black, with one bright splash in the brook below. They had
finished their supper, and Bosephus, with the needle and thread given to
him by old Mis' Todd, had patiently mended by the firelight a small rent
in his trouser leg. Horatio, watching him with a grin, had finally

"You see, Bo, if you wore clothes like mine you wouldn't have to do

"And if the dog that did that had got his teeth into your clothes, you'd
have wished they were like mine. Maybe that's why you didn't give him a

"Let's count the money, Bo."

So then they counted up their day's receipts. There was something more
than a dollar in all, and Horatio was much pleased.


"I tell you, Bo," he said excitedly, "we've made a fine start. By and by
we will earn two or three times that much every day, and be able to
start our bear colony before you know it."

The little boy fondled the coins over and over. They were the first he
had ever earned.

"Ratio," he said at last, "don't you suppose when we get a lot of
money--a big lot, I mean--we might give some to those people I used to
live with?"

Horatio scowled.

"I thought you said they didn't treat you well and you had to run away."

"Yes, of course, Ratio; but then they were so poor and maybe they'd have
been better to me if I had been able to earn money for them. They did
take me out of the poor house, you know, and--"

"And you tried to get back again and got lost and fell in with me. Now
you are sorry and want to go to them, do you?" and the Bear snorted so
fiercely that the little boy trembled.

"Oh, no! Not for the world! I never was so happy in all my life, only I
just thought--"

"Then don't think, Bo," interrupted Horatio, gently. "You are only a
little boy. I will do the thinking for this firm. Now for a song, Bo, to
soothe us."

So then they played and sang softly together while the moon rose and the
fire died out, and the boy poured the money from hand to hand, lovingly.

"Bosephus," said his companion, as they paused, "were those people you
lived with nice people? Nice fat people, I mean?"

"Not very. Old Mr. Sugget might have been pretty fat if he'd had more to
eat, but Mis' Sugget wasn't made to get fat, I know. It wasn't her

"It was the old man that abused you, wasn't it?"

"Well, mostly."

"Knocked you about and half starved you?"

"Sometimes, but then----"

"Wait, please. I have an idea. When we get our bear colony started we'll
invite this Sugget party to visit us. We'll feed him--all he can eat. By
and by, when he gets fat--how long do you suppose it will take him to
get fat, Bo? Fat enough, I mean?"

"Fat enough for what?" shivered Bo.

Horatio drew the horsehair briskly across the strings and looked up at
the moon.

"Fat enough to be entertaining," he grinned, and began singing:--

    "Oh, there was an old man and his ways were mighty mean,
    And he wasn't very fat and he wasn't very lean,
    Till he went to pay a visit to a colony of bears,
    Then you couldn't find a nicer man than he was, anywheres."

While the Bear played the little boy had been watching a slim, moving
shadow that seemed to have drifted out from among the heavier shadows
into the half-lit open space in front of them. As the music ceased it
drifted back again.

"Play some more, Ratio," he whispered.

Again the Bear played and again the slim shadow appeared in the
moonlight and presently another and another. Some of them were slender
and graceful; some of them heavier and slower of movement. As the music
continued they swung into a half circle and drew closer. Now and then
the boy caught a glimpse of two shining sparks that kept time and
movement with each. He could hardly breathe in his excitement.

"Look there, Ratio," he whispered.

Horatio did not stir.

"Sh-h!" he said softly. "My friends--the forest people."

The Bear slackened the music a little as he spoke and the shadows
wavered and drew away. Then he livened the strain and they trooped
forward again eagerly.

Just then the moon swung clear of the thick trees and the dancers were
in its full flood. The boy watched them with trembling eagerness.

A tall, catlike creature, erect and graceful, swayed like a phantom in
and out among the others, and seemed to lead. As it came directly in
front of the musicians it turned full front toward them. It was an
immense gray panther.

At any other time Bo would have screamed. Now he was only fascinated.
Its step was perfect and its long tail waved behind it, like a silver
plume, which the others followed. Two red foxes kept pace with it. Two
gray ones, a little to one side, imitated their movements. In the
background a family of three bears danced so awkwardly that Bo was
inclined to laugh.

"We will teach them to do better than that when we get our colony," he

Horatio nodded without pausing. The dancers separated, each group to
itself, the gray panther in the foreground. Spellbound, the boy watched
the beautiful swaying creature. He had been taught to fear the
"painter," as it was called in Arkansaw, but he had no fear now. He
almost felt that he must himself step out into that enchanted circle and
join in the weird dance.

New arrivals stole constantly out of the darkness to mingle in the
merrymaking. A little way apart a group of rabbits skipped wildly
together, while near them a party of capering wolves had forgotten their
taste for blood. Two plump 'coons and a heavy bodied 'possum, after
trying in vain to keep up with the others, were content to sit side by
side and look on. Other friends, some of whom the boy did not know,
slipped out into the magic circle, and, after watching the others for a
moment, leaped madly into the revel. The instinct of the old days had
claimed them when the wild beasts of the forest and the wood nymphs trod
measures to the pipes of Pan. The boy leaned close to the player.

"The rest of it!" he whispered. "Play the rest of it!"

"I am afraid. They have never heard it before."

"Play it! Play it!" commanded Bo, excitedly.

There was a short, sharp pause at the end of the next bar, then a sudden
wild dash into the second half of the tune. The prancing animals stopped
as if by magic. For an instant they stood motionless, staring with eyes
like coals. Then came a great rush forward, the gray panther at the
head. The boy saw them coming, but could not move.

"Sing!" shouted Horatio; "sing!"

For a second the words refused to come. Then they flooded forth in the
moonlight. Bo could sing, and he had never sung as he did now.

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, our singing, yes our singing, all our friends to us 'tis bringing,
    For it sets the woods to ringing, and the forest people know

[Illustration: Music]

    That we do not mean to harm them in their dancing, nor alarm them--
    We are seeking but to charm them with the sounds of long ago."


At the first notes of the boy's clear voice the animals hesitated; then
they crept up slowly and gathered about to listen. They did not resume
dancing to this new strain. Perhaps they wanted to learn it first. Bo
sang on and on. The listening audience never moved. Then Horatio
played very softly, and the singer lowered his voice until it became
like a far off echo. When Bo sang like this he often closed his eyes. He
did so now.

The music sank lower and lower, until it died away in a whisper. The boy
ceased singing and opening his eyes gazed about him. Here and there he
imagined he heard a slight rustle in the leaves, but the gray panther
was gone. The frisking rabbits and the capering wolves had vanished. The
red and gray foxes, the awkward bears and the rest of that frolicking
throng had melted back into the shadows. So far as he could peer into
the dim forest he was alone with his faithful friend.



    "Oh, the wind blows cold and the wind blows raw,
    When the night comes on in the Arkansaw--
    Yes, the wind blows cold and the snow will fall.
    And Bosephus and Horatio must travel through it all."

THE little boy's voice quavered as he sang, and his teeth chattered. It
had been more than two months since he started on his travels with
Horatio, and the October nights, even in southern Arkansaw, were
beginning to be chilly. The night before he had in some way got
separated from his friend's warm furry coat and woke shivering. He
kindled a fire now, singing as he worked, while Horatio touched the
chords of his violin pensively. He did not feel the cold. Nature was
providing him with his winter furs.

"Bo," he said presently, "you'll have to have some heavier clothes.
Either that or we'll have to go farther South. As for me, you know, I
could go to sleep in a hollow tree and not mind the winter, but you
couldn't do it, and I don't intend to, either, this year; we're making
too much money for that."

Bo laughed in spite of the cold and jingled his pockets. They were more
than half full of coin, and he had a good roll of bills in his jacket

"No," he said; "we are getting along too well. We'll be rich by spring
if we keep right on. I'm thinking, though, that we'll never be able to
get South fast enough if we walk."

"Look here, Bo; you're not thinking about putting me on that cyclone
thing they call a train, are you?"

"Well, not exactly, but yesterday where we performed I heard a fellow
say that there was a river right close here, and steamboats. You
wouldn't mind a steamboat, would you, Ratio?"

"Of course not. I don't mind anything. I've always wanted to ride on one
of those trains, only I knew the people would be frightened at me, and
as for a steamboat, why, if I should meet a steamboat coming down the

"But steamboats don't come down the roads, Ratio; they go on the water."

"Water! Water that you drink, and drown things in?"

"Of course! And if the boat goes down we'll be drowned, too."

Horatio struck a few notes on the violin before replying.

"Bo," he said presently, "you're a friend of mine, aren't you? A true

"Yes, Ratio, you know I am."

"Well, then, don't you go on one of those boats. It would grieve me
terribly if anything should happen to you. I might not be able to save
you, Bo, and then think how lonely I should be." And Horatio put one paw
to his eyes and sobbed.

"Oh, pshaw, Ratio! Why, I can swim like everything. I'm not afraid."

"But you couldn't save us both, Bo--I mean, we both couldn't save the
fiddle--it would get wet. Think--think of the fiddle, Bo!"

The fire was burning brightly by this time and the little boy was
getting warm. He laughed and rubbed his hands and began to sing:--

    "Oh, we're going down the river on a great big boat,
    And Horatio's so excited he can hardly play a note,
    For he never liked the water and he never learned to swim,
    And he thinks if he goes sailing now his chances will be slim."

Horatio stopped short and snorted angrily.

"I want you to understand," he said, sharply, "that I'm not afraid of
anything. You'll please remember that night when the forest people
danced and you thought your time had come, how I saved you by making you
sing. There's nothing I fear. Why if--"

But what Horatio was about to say will never be known, for at that
moment there came such a frightful noise as neither of them had ever
heard before. It came from everywhere at once, and seemed to fill all
the sky and set the earth to trembling. It was followed by two or three
fierce snorts and a dazzling gleam of light through the trees. The
little boy was startled, and as for the Bear, he gave one wild look and
fled. In his fright he did not notice a small shrub, and, tripping over
it, he fell headlong into a clump of briars, where he lay, groaning
dismally that he was killed and that the world was coming to an end.

Suddenly Bosephus gave a shout of laughter.

"Get up, Ratio," he called, "it's our steamboat! We're right near the
river and didn't know it. They're landing, too, and we can go right

The groaning ceased and there was a labored movement among the briars.

Presently Horatio crept out, very much crestfallen, and picked up the
violin, which in his haste he had dropped.

"Bo," he said, sheepishly, "I never told you about it before, but I am
subject to fits. I had one just then. They come on suddenly that way.
All my family have them and act strangely at times. I'm sure you don't
think for a moment that I was frightened just now."

[Illustration: HE FELL HEADLONG.]

"Oh, no, of course not. You merely picked out that briar patch as a good
place to have a fit in. Do you always think the world's coming to an
end when you are taken that way?"

"We'll go right aboard, Bo; you are a little timid, no doubt, so I'll
lead the way." And Horatio stepped out briskly toward the lights and
voices and the landing steamer.

A few steps brought them out to the river bank and a full view of the
boat that had crept silently around a bend to the woodyard, where it was
halting to take on fuel. The gang plank had not been pushed out to the
bank as yet, but a white ray of light shot from a small window to the
dark shore and looked exactly like a narrow board. The boy and the Bear
were both deceived by it, and Horatio in his eagerness to show his
bravery did not pause to investigate.

"Take the fiddle, Bo," he said, loftily, "and I'll show you how to get
on a boat. You should always be brave, Bosephus."

Bosephus took the instrument and Horatio, with arms extended as a
balance, stepped straight out into nothing and vanished. There was a
sudden splash, a growl, a scrambling sound in the shallow water and
Horatio's head appeared above the bank. Bosephus, at first frightened,
was now doubled with laughter.

"Oh, Ratio," he gasped, "how funny of you to try to walk on a moonbeam!"

Horatio shook himself and sniffed angrily. A wide gang plank was now
being lowered from the boat, and as it touched the bank the boy stepped
quickly aboard, followed by the wet, shambling Bear.

    "Oh, there was an Old Bear on a dark, dark night,
    Who tried to walk on a beam of light,"

sang Bo, as he crossed the plank,

    "But the beam wouldn't hold and the Bear broke through,
    And now Horatio follows, as Horatio ought to do."

"Hello!" called a voice. "Where did you come from?"

Bo looked up and saw a brawny man with a group of wondering negroes
behind him.

"We are travelling," said Bo, "and we want to go down the river. We can
pay our way and will make music for you, too."

"Good boy," said the mate. "Go right up and report to the clerk, then
come back down here, and after we get this wood loaded we'll give you
some supper and you can give us a show."

On the upper deck the few passengers gathered around and made much of
the arrivals. All asked questions at once, and Bo answered as best he
could. Horatio kept silent--he never talked except when he was alone
with Bo. The boy kept his hand on the Bear's head, and when the boat
backed away and puffed down stream he felt his big friend tremble, but a
little later, when they had had a good supper, Ratio's fear passed off,
and on the lower deck, where all hands collected, the friends gave an
entertainment that not only won for them free passage down the river,
but a good collection besides. It was far in the night when the
performance ended. The officers, passengers and crew kept calling for
more, and the travellers were anxious to accommodate them. The negroes
went wild over the music, and patted and danced crazily whenever Horatio
played. Finally Bo sang a good night song:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Now, we've had a lot of music, and we've had some supper, too,
    And we're sailing down the river in a little steam canoe,

[Illustration: Music]

    And we love to be obliging with our music, but it seems
    That we ought to go a-sailing to the land of pleasant dreams.



[Illustration: Music]

    And I must not fail to mention we enjoy your kind attention,
    And the favors you have shown to us have filled us with delight,

[Illustration: Music]

    And to-morrow we will play for you and sing our songs so gay for you,
    But now you will excuse us if we say--good--night."

Bosephus and Horatio were both offered staterooms on the upper deck, but
Horatio preferred to sleep outside, and the little boy said he would
sleep there also. Horatio sat up for some moments after Bo had stretched
himself to rest, looking at the dark wooded banks and the starlight on
the water behind them.

"Bo," he said, at last, "we are going to see the world now, sure

"Yes, Ratio," was the sleepy answer.

"Bo, do you suppose our camp fire is still burning back yonder?"

No answer.

"I hate to leave old Arkansaw, don't you, Bo?"

But the little boy was in the land of dreams.



    "Sailing down the river so early in the morn,
    Sailing down the river so early in the morn,
    Sailing down the river so early in the morn,
    Never was so happy since the day that I was born."

THE boat on which Horatio and Bosephus had taken their passage made no
landings during the night, and the little boy and the big Bear slept
soundly on the deck together. Rather too soundly, as will be seen later.
At daybreak the next morning Bosephus was wide awake, singing softly and
watching through the mist the queer forms of the cypress trees, with the
long Spanish moss swinging from the limbs. Horatio, hearing the singing,
rubbed his eyes and sat up. He had never been so far South before, so
the scenery was new to both of them, and when they came to open spaces
and saw that the shores were only a few inches higher than the river and
that fields of waving green came right to the water's edge they were
both pleased and surprised at this new world. The climate had changed,
too, and the air was warm and spring-like.

"I tell you, Bo," said Horatio grandly, "there's nothing like travel.
You're a lucky boy, Bo, to fall in with me. Why, the way you've come out
in the last few months is wonderful. Of course, there is a good deal of
room yet for improvement, and there are still some things that you are
rather timid of, but when I remember how you looked the first minute I
saw you, and then to see the sociable way you sit up and talk to me now,
you really don't seem like the same boy, Bosephus, you really don't."

The little boy leaned up close to his companion.

    "Oh, there was a little boy and his name was Bo,"

he sang softly, remembering their first meeting.

    "Went out into the woods when the moon was low,"

added the Bear, strumming lightly the strings of the violin.

    "And he met an Old Bear that was hungry for a snack,
    And the folks are still awaiting for Bosephus to come back."

they continued together in a half whisper.

"Ratio," said the little boy, confidentially, "did you really intend
to--to have me--you know, Ratio--for--for supper until I taught you the
tune? Did you, Ratio?"

Horatio gazed away across a broad cane field, where the first streak of
sunrise was beginning to show.

    "For the boy became the teacher of the kind and gentle creature
    Who could play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way,"

he sang dreamily, and then both together once more:--

    "Now he'll never, never leave him, and he'll never, never grieve him,
    And we're singing here together at the break--of--day."

"This is very pleasant travelling," commented Horatio thoughtfully. "It
beats walking, at least for speed and comfort. Of course, there are a
number of places we cannot reach by boat," he added, regretfully.

"Not in Southern Louisiana, Ratio. I've heard that there's a regular
tangle of rivers and bayous all over the country, and that boats go

Horatio looked pleased.

"Aren't you glad now, Bo," he said proudly, "that I proposed this boat
business? I have always wanted to travel this way. I was afraid at first
that you might not take to it very well, and when that whistle blew
last night I could see that you were frightened. It was unfortunate that
I should have had a fit just then or I might have calmed you. You saw
how anxious I was to go aboard. Of course, in being over brave I made a
slight mistake. I am always that way. All my family are. One really
ought to be less reckless about some things, but somehow none of my
family ever knew what fear was. We----"

But just then the boat concluded to land, and the morning stillness was
torn into shreds by its frightful whistle. Horatio threw up both hands
and fell backward on the deck, where he lay pawing the air wildly. Then
he stuffed his paws into his ears and howled as he kicked with his hind
feet. Bo stood over him and shouted that there was no danger, but his
voice made no sound in that awful thunder. All at once Horatio sprang up
and jammed his head under Bo's arm, trembling like a jellyfish. Then the
noise stopped, and with one or two more hoarse shouts ceased entirely.

"It's all right, Ratio, come out!" said Bo, trying to stop laughing.

Horatio felt of his ears a moment to see that they were still there,
while he looked skittishly in the direction of the dreadful whistle and
started violently at the quick snorts of the escaping steam.

"Bo," he said faintly, "do all boats do that?"

"Oh, yes! Some worse than others. This one isn't very bad."

"I'm sorry, Bo, for it is a great drawback to travel where one is
subject to fits as I am. It seems to bring them on. And it is not kind
of you to laugh at my affliction, either, Bosephus," he added, for Bo
had dropped down on the deck, where he was rolling and holding his


All at once the boy lay perfectly still. Then he sprang up with every
bit of laugh gone out of his face. His left hand grasped the outside of
his jacket, while with his right hand he dived down into the inside
pocket like mad. The Bear watched him anxiously.

"What is it, Bo? Have you got one, too?" he asked.

"Horatio!" gasped the boy. "Our money! It's gone!"

"Gone! Gone! Where?"

"Stolen. Some of those niggers did it while we were asleep!"

The Bear reflected a moment. Then he said thoughtfully:--

"Do you suppose, Bo, it was that nice fat one?"

"I shouldn't wonder a bit. I saw him watch every penny I took in last

Horatio licked out his tongue eagerly.

"Could I have him if it was?" he asked hungrily.

"Have him! How?" said Bo. Then he shuddered. "Oh! no, not that way--of
course not. But I'll tell you, Ratio," he added, "we'll make him believe
that you can, and frighten him into giving up the money."

Horatio frowned.

"I don't like make-believes," he grumbled. "Can't we let the money go
this time and not have any make-believe?"

"Not much--we want that money right now, before the boat lands; then
we'll go ashore and get out of such a crowd. Come, Ratio."

No one was stirring on the upper deck as yet, but the crew was collected
below where the second mate was shouting orders as the boat swung slowly
into the bank. They boy and Bear dashed down the stairs.

[Illustration: "OUR MONEY! IT IS GONE!"]

"Wait!" shouted Bo to the officer. "Somebody on this boat last night
stole our money, and I want my Bear to find him. It won't take but a
minute, for he can tell a thief at sight when he's mad and hungry, and
he's mad now, and hungry for dark meat!" The boy looked straight into
the crowd of negroes, while the Bear growled fiercely and fixed his eye
on the fat darky.

The crew fell back and the fat darky with a howl started to run.

"That's the one! That's the thief!" shouted Bo, and with a snarl Horatio
bounded away in pursuit. Down the narrow gangway to the stern of the
boat, then in a circle around a lot of cotton, they ran like mad, the
Bear getting closer to the negro every minute. Then back again to the
bow in a straight stretch, the thief blue with fright and Horatio's eyes
shining with hungry anticipation. The rest of the crew looked on and
cheered. Suddenly, as the fat darky passed Bo, he jerked a sack from his
pocket and flung it behind him.

"Dar's yo' money! Dar's yo' money!" he shouted. "Call off yo' B'ar!"

But that was not so easy. Bosephus shouted frantically at Horatio, but
he did not seem to hear. His blood was up, and his taste for dark meat
was stronger than his love of money. As the two came clattering around
the second time he was so close to his prey that with a quick swipe he
got quite a piece of his shirt. With a wild yell the fat fugitive leaped
over into the river and struck out for shore.

Horatio paused. His half open jaws were dripping and his eyes red and
fiery with disappointment. Bo went up to him gently.

"Come, Ratio," he whispered.

The Bear paid no heed. He was watching his escaped prey, who had reached
the shore and was disappearing in a great canefield.


"Come!" Bo whispered again. "We'll go ashore, too."

Horatio wheeled eagerly. The gangplank was being lowered, and he hurried
Bo out on it, so that when it touched the bank he was all ready to give
chase again.

"No, wait; some music first," said Bo. "I have thought of some new lines
for the second part of the tune."

For a moment Horatio hesitated. Then the temptation of the music was
stronger even than his appetite, and, throwing his violin into position,
he began to play. The passengers, roused by the excitement, had gathered
on the upper deck. The crew coming ashore below paused to listen.

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh! there was a fat darky with an appetite for wealth,
    And the only way to get it was to capture it by stealth,

[Illustration: Music]

    But when it came to keep it, his chances were so small,
    He concluded that he really didn't care for it at all.

[Illustration: Music]

    For we placed him and we faced him, and my bear Horatio chased him--
    In a manner most surprising he pursued him to and fro--

[Illustration: Music]

    And we hope we do not grieve you, but we feel that we must leave you,
    For the Southern sun is rising, and we're bound--to--go."

The crew cheered and the passengers on the upper deck shouted and waved
their handkerchiefs.

"Don't go!" they called. "Don't leave us!" But the friends turned their
faces to the East and set out on a broad white road that led away to the



[Illustration: Music]

    "Rooster in de chicken coop crowin' foh day,
    Horses in de stable goin' 'Nay, nay, nay!'

[Illustration: Music]

    Ducks in de yard goin' 'Quack, quack, quack!'
    Guineas in de tree tops goin' 'Rack-pot-rack!'"

DURING the two weeks since they had come to the land of sugar-cane
Horatio and Bosephus had learned some of the old negro songs of
Louisiana and sang them to their own music. They were doing so now as
they marched along the bank of a quiet bayou, where the blue grass came
to the water's edge and the long Spanish moss from big live oak trees
swung down twenty feet or more till it almost touched the water. They
had had a good day and were going to camp.

"Bo," said the Bear presently, "we are doing well. We are making money,

"Fifty dollars since we left the boat," said the little boy.

"These fat babies--little darky babies--are very amusing, too, Bosephus,
don't you think so?" Horatio added, nodding in the direction of some
they were just then passing.


"I notice that you think so," said Bo, dryly. "If you'll take my advice,
though, you won't show any special fondness for them. People might not
understand your ways, you know, and besides," he added, with a grin,
"I've heard say these darkies down here are mighty fond of bear meat,
and there's such a lot of them----"

"Don't you mention it, Bo; I never dreamed of such a thing as you are
hinting at."

"Well, you said you were dreaming yesterday when we met that little
darky boy, and you nearly tore the jacket off of him before I could wake
you up with a club."

Horatio drew his bow hastily across the strings and began singing--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Keemo, kimo, kilgo, kayro,
    Horses in de stable goin' 'Nay, nay, nay!'

[Illustration: Music]

    Rop strop, periwinkle, little yaller nigger,
    Cum a rop strop bottle till the break of day."

The sun was just setting behind a large, white, old fashioned sugar
house, where the bayou turned, and made it look like an ancient castle.
The little boy sighed. He had never believed that any country could be
so beautiful as this, and he wanted to stay in it forever. Horatio liked
it, too. They had played and danced at many of the sugar houses, and the
Bear had been given everywhere all the waste sugar he could eat. He was
fond of the green cane also, and was nearly always chewing a piece when
they were not busy with a performance. But the big fellow had never
quite overcome his old savage nature, and the race on the steamboat had
roused it more fiercely than ever. The fat pickaninnies were a constant
temptation to him, and it had taken all Bo's watchfulness to keep him
out of dreadful mischief. Bo never feared for himself. Horatio loved him
and had even become afraid of him. It was for Horatio that he feared,
for he knew that death would be sure and swift if one of the
pickaninnies was even so much as scratched, not to mention anything
worse that might happen. Again the little boy sighed as they turned into
a clean grassy place and made ready for camp.

Long after Bosephus was asleep Horatio sat by the dying camp fire,
thinking. By and by he rose and walked out to the bank of the bayou and
looked toward the sugar house that lay white in the moonlight, half a
mile away. Then he went back to where Bo was asleep and picked up the
violin. Then he laid it down again, as though he had changed his mind,
and slipped away through the shadows in the direction of the old sugar
house. He said to himself that, as they were going in that direction and
would stop there next day, he might as well see how the road went and
what kind of a place it was. He did not own, even to himself, that it
was the negro cabins and fat pickaninnies that were in his mind, and
that down in his heart was a wicked and savage purpose. Every little way
he paused and seemed about to turn back, but he kept on. By and by he
drew near the sugar house and saw the double row of whitewashed huts in
the moonlight. It was later than he had supposed and the crowds of
little darkies that were usually playing outside had gone to bed. He
sighed and was about to turn back when suddenly he saw something
capering about near the shed of the sugar house. He slipped up nearer
and a fierce light came into his eyes. It was a little negro boy doing a
hoo-doo dance in the moonlight.


Suddenly the little fellow turned and saw the Bear glaring at him.
Horatio was between him and the cabins. The boy gave one wild shriek and
dashed through a small open door that led into the blackness of the
sugar house, the Bear following close behind. It was one of the old
Creole sugar houses where the syrup is poured out into open vessels to
cool and harden. The little darky knew his way and Horatio didn't. He
stumbled and fell, and growled and tried to follow the flying shadow
that was skipping and leaping and begging, "Oh, Mars Debbil! Oh, please,
Mars Debbil, lemme go dis time, an' I nevah do so no mo'. Nevah do no
mo' hoo-doo, Mars Debbil; oh, please, Mars Debbil, lemme go!"

But Horatio was getting closer and closer and in another moment would
seize him. Then, suddenly, something happened. The Bear stumbled and,
half falling, stepped into one of the big shallow wooden vessels. He
felt his hind feet break through something like crusted ice and sink a
foot or more into a heavy, thick substance below. When he tried to lift
them they only sank deeper. Then he knew what was the matter. He had
stepped into a mass of hardening sugar and was a prisoner! His forefeet
were free, but he dared not struggle with them for fear of getting them
fast, too. The little darky, who thought the devil had stopped to rest,
was huddled together in a corner not daring to move. Horatio remembered
Bo sleeping safely in their camp and began to weep for his own
wickedness. In the morning men would come with axes and guns. Why had he
not heeded Bo? Half seated on the crusted sugar he gave himself up to
sorrow and despair.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was early morning when Bo awoke. He was surprised to see that Horatio
was not beside him, for the boy was usually first awake. He called
loudly. Then, as the moments passed and the Bear did not come, he grew
uneasy. Suddenly a terrible suspicion flashed over him. He sprang to his
feet and seizing the violin that lay beside him set forth on a run in
the direction of the white sugar house. He knew Horatio would go there
because it was nearest, and he felt certain that something dreadful had
happened. The incident of the day before made him almost sure of
Horatio's errand, and he feared the worst. No doubt they had caught and
killed him by this time, and what would he do now without his faithful


He ran faster and faster. As he drew near the sugar house he heard a
great commotion. For a moment he stopped. If Horatio had done something
terrible and they had caught him perhaps it would be dangerous to
interfere. The next moment he rushed on. Horatio was his friend and he
would save his life if possible, unless----. He did not think any
further, but flew on. As he dashed into the cane yard he saw crowds
gathering and men running with axes and clubs. Others had guns and cane
knives, and all were crowding toward the big doors of the sugar house,
that were now thrown open. Inside he heard shouts, mingled with
Horatio's fierce growls. His friend was still alive.

Without pausing he rushed through the doors and saw a circle of negro
men gathered about the big wooden trough where the Bear was a prisoner,
snapping and growling and trying to get free. The little pickaninny who,
in spite of his fright, had slept all night in the corner, was there,
too, and the men with axes and other weapons had entered with Bo. There
was not a second to be lost.

"Wait!" screamed Bo; "wait!" And tearing through the astonished crowd he
thrust the violin into Horatio's hands.

"Play!" he shouted. "Play for your worthless life!"

Horatio did not need to be told again. He reached for the violin and
bow, and sitting in the now solid sugar struck the strings wildly.

    "Rooster in de chicken coop, crowin' foh day;
    Horses in de stable goin' 'Nay, nay, nay;'
    Ducks in de yard goin' 'Quack, quack, quack!'
    Guineas in de tree tops, goin' 'Rack-pot-rack!'"

Horatio fiddled furiously, while Bo shouted and sang and the crowd
joined in. They all knew this song, and as they sang they forgot all
else. Axes and guns and clubs were dropped as young and old fell into
the swing of the music.

    "Keemo, kimo, kilgo, kayro;
    Fleero, fliro, flav-o-ray;
    Rop strop, periwinkle, little yaller nigger,
    Cum a rop strop bottle till de break--of--day!"

You could hear the noise for a mile. They danced and shouted and sang,
and work was forgotten. After a long time, when they were tired out, Bo
took one of the axes and carefully broke the now solid sugar away from
Ratio's feet and set him free. Then they brought water and washed his
hind paws and he danced for them.

After dinner, when the friends started out on their journey, the crowd
followed them for nearly a mile. When all were gone Horatio turned to Bo
and said:--

"I am glad you came just as you did, Bo."

"I should rather think you would be," said Bo, grimly.

"Because," continued Horatio, "if you hadn't I might have damaged some
of those fellows, and I know you wouldn't have liked that, Bosephus." He
looked at the little boy very humbly as he said this, expecting a severe
lecture. But the little boy made no reply, and down in his heart the big
Bear at that moment made a solemn and good resolve.



[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, we're down in the land where the jasmine blows,
    And the cypress waves and the orange grows,

[Illustration: Music]

    And the song bird nests in the climbing rose--
    And all the girls are beautiful, and milk and honey flows."

HORATIO paused in his playing and looked at Bosephus, who was ready to
sing another stanza.

"Look here, Bo," he said gravely, "that sounds very pretty and may be
very good poetry and true enough, but I wouldn't get to singing too much
about jasmine and song birds and climbing roses if I were you, and
especially girls. You are only a little boy, and besides, I can't see
that there is any difference in girls, except that some are plump and
some are not, and that isn't any difference to me, now," and the Bear
sighed and strummed on his violin gently.

"Oh, pshaw, Ratio! There's lots of difference. Some girls are yellow and
sour as a lemon, while some are as pink and sweet and blooming as a
creole rose"----

"Bosephus," interrupted the Bear gravely, "you've got a touch of the
swamp fever. Let me see your tongue!"

Bo stuck out his tongue.

"My tongue's all right," he grinned. "That kind of fever's in the

Horatio looked alarmed.

"You must take something for it right away, Bo," he declared. "I can't
have you singing silly songs about jasmine and cypress and girls in milk
and honey. You know we haven't seen any honey since we left Arkansaw,
and I'd travel all the way back there on foot to rob one good honey
tree. I'm getting tired of so much of this stuff they call sugar and
cane and the like."

"Why they have honey here, Ratio, too. I haven't seen any bee trees, but
I've seen plenty of bees. I suppose they are in hives--boxes that people
keep for them to live in."

"Where do they have those boxes, Bo?"

"Well, in their yards mostly; generally out by the back fence."

"Could we rob them?"

"Well, I shouldn't like to try it."

The Bear walked along some distance in silence. The boy was also
thinking and singing softly to himself. He was very happy. Presently he
looked up and saw just ahead, in a field near the road, a tree loaded
with oranges.

"Look, Ratio!" he said. "Don't you wish we had some of those?"

The Bear looked up and began to lick out his tongue.

"Climb over and get some, Bo," he said eagerly.

"Not much. I haven't forgotten the roasting ears and the watermelon we
got from old man Todd in Arkansaw. We might go to the house and ask for

"Nonsense, Bosephus. Watch me!"

He handed Bo the fiddle, and running lightly to the hedge cleared it at
a bound.

"Fine!" shouted Bo.

Horatio, without pausing, hurried over to the tree.

"Funny they should leave those oranges so late," thought the little boy
as he watched him.

Swinging himself to the first limb, the Bear shook off a lot of the fine
yellow fruit, and climbing down, gathered in his arms all he could
carry. As he did so there came a loud barking of dogs, and without
looking behind him he started to run. He dropped a few of the oranges,
but kept straight on, the two huge dogs that had appeared getting closer
and closer. As he reached the hedge he once more made a grand leap, but
the oranges prevented him doing so well as before. His foot caught in
the top branches and he rolled over and over in the dusty road, the
oranges flying in every direction. The dogs behind the hedge barked and

Horatio rose, dusty and panting, but triumphant.

"You see, Bo," he said, "what it is to be brave. You can fill your
pockets now with these delicious oranges."

He picked up one as he spoke, and brushing off the dust, bit it in half
cheerfully. Then Bo, who was watching him, saw a strange thing take
place. The half orange flew out of the Bear's mouth as from a popgun,
and his face became so distorted that the boy thought his friend was
having a spasm. Suddenly he whirled, and making a rush at the fallen
oranges, began to kick them in every direction, coughing and spitting
every second. The two dogs looking over the hedge stopped barking to
enjoy the fun. One of the oranges rolled to Bo's feet. He picked it up
and smelled it. Then rubbing it on his coat he bit into it. It was not a
large bite, but it was enough. The tears rolled from his eyes and every
tooth in his head jumped. Such a mixture of stinging sour and bitter he
had never dreamed of. It grabbed him by the throat and shook him until
his bones cracked. The top of his head seemed coming loose, and his ears
fairly snapped. Then he realized what Horatio must be suffering, and
laughed in spite of himself.


"They are mock oranges, Ratio," he shouted, "and they are mocking us for
stealing them!"

Horatio had seated himself by the roadside and was snorting and clawing
at his tongue.

"I must have some honey, Bo," he said, "to take away that dreadful
taste. You must find me some honey, Bo."

"You see, Ratio," said the little boy, "it doesn't pay to take things."

"Bosephus," said the Bear, "a man who will plant a tree like that so
near the road deceives wilfully and should be punished."

They walked along slowly, the two dogs barking after them from behind
the hedge.

Just beyond the next bend in the road a beautiful plantation came into
view. They turned into the cane yard and immediately the workhands
surrounded them. Horatio felt better by this time, and they began a
performance. First Bo sang and then Horatio gave a gymnastic exhibition.
Then at last Bo sang a closing verse as follows:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Now our little show is ended, and we hope you think it splendid,
    And we trust we've not offended or displeased you anywhere,

[Illustration: Music]

    You have paid us to be funny, and we thank you for the money,
    But I'd like a little honey for the Old--Black--Bear.

Horatio smiled when he heard this, and the planter who was listening
sent one of the servants to the house. He came out soon with a piece of
fresh honey on a plate. He offered it to Horatio, who handed Bo the
violin, and seizing the plate, swallowed the honey at one gulp. This
made the crowd shout and laugh, and then Bo shook hands with the planter
and said good-bye, and all the darkies came up and wanted to shake
hands, too. When he had shaken hands all around the little boy turned to
look for Horatio. He was nowhere in sight. The others had not noticed
him slip away.

Bo was troubled. When Horatio disappeared like that it meant mischief.
He had promised reform as to pickaninnies, but Bo was never quite sure.
He was about to ask the people to run in every direction in search of
his comrade when there was a sudden commotion in the back door yard, and
a moment later a black figure dashed through the gate with something
under its arm. It was Horatio! The crowd of darkies took one look and
scattered. The thing under Horatio's arm was a square, box looking
affair, and out of it was streaming a black, living cloud.

"Bees!" shouted the people as they fled. "Bees! Bees!"

Bo understood instantly. The taste of honey had made Horatio greedy for
more. He had gone in search of it and returned with hive and all. There
was a clump of tall weeds just behind the little boy, and he dropped
down into them. They hid him from view, and none too soon, for the Bear
dashed past, snorting and striking at the swarm of stingers that not
only covered him, but fiercely attacked everything in sight. Howls began
to come from some of the hands that had failed to find shelter in time,
and Bo, peeping out between the weeds, saw half a dozen darkies
frantically trying to open the big door of the sugar house, which had
been hastily closed by those within, while the angry bees were pelting
furiously at the unfortunates.


As for Horatio, he was coated with bees that were trying to sting
through his thick fur. He did not mind them at first, but presently
they began to get near his eyes. With a snarl he dropped the hive and
began to paw and strike with both hands. Then they swarmed about him
worse than ever, and, half blinded, he began to run around and around
with no regard as to direction. Every darky in sight fled like the wind.
Some of them ran out of the gate and down the road, and without seeing
them, perhaps, the Bear suddenly leaped the fence and set out in the
same direction. Glancing back, they saw him coming and began to shriek
and scatter into the fields.

Bo waited some minutes; then, noticing that the maddened insects were no
longer buzzing viciously over him, he crept out and followed. He still
held the violin and was glad enough to get away from the plantation. The
bees had followed the fugitive, and the boy kept far enough behind to be
out of danger. By and by he met bees coming back, but perhaps they were
tired or thought he belonged to another crowd, for they did not molest
him. A mile further on he found Horatio sitting in the road rocking and
groaning and throwing dust on himself. His eyes and nose were swollen in
great knots, and his ears were each puffed up like little balloons. The
bees had left him, but his sorrow was at its height.

"Hello, Ratio! Having fun all alone?" asked Bo as he came up.

"Oh, Bo, this has been an awful day!" was the wailing reply. "First
those terrible oranges and then these millions and millions of murderous
bees. And now I am blind, Bo, and dying. Tell me, Bo, how do I look?"

"Oh, you look all right. Your nose looks like a big potato and your ears
like two little ones. I can't tell you how your eyes are, for they don't
show, but your whole skin looks as if it had been stuffed full of apples
and put on in a hurry."

"Bo," said Horatio meekly, "did you bring the fiddle?"


"Well, yes; I thought it might happen that we'd need it again."

Horatio put out his paw for it. The boy gave it to him and he ran the
bow gently over the strings.

"Sing, Bo," he pleaded. "Sing that song about jasmine and cypress and
climbing roses. It will soothe me. Sing about girls, too, if you want
to, but leave out the oranges, Bo, and put in something else besides
honey in the last line."

"Ratio," said Bo, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. Let me see
your tongue!"



    "Oh, the sky is blue and the sun is high,
    And the days roll 'round, and the weeks go by----"

"BO," interrupted Horatio, softly; "what's that over there on the bank
that looks like a man all in a wad?"

The little boy was singing along through the sweet Louisiana afternoon,
putting into his song whatever came into his head:--

    "And I turn, and I look, and what do I see?
    Someone's left his bundle by a live oak tree."

"What do you suppose is in that bundle, Bo?" asked the Bear, anxiously.

"Oh, I don't know. Old clothes, from the looks of it. The owner isn't
far off.

    "When a coat and vest and hat, and pair of trousers you espy,
    You can bet your bottom dollar there's a man close by."

Horatio looked in every direction. Then he walked over to the clothes.

"Why," said Bo, following; "I guess somebody's taking a swim. Come on,
Ratio. Remember the honey and the oranges."

But the Bear was curious. He picked up the hat and set it on his head.
Bo laughed lazily. Then Horatio laid down his violin and slipped one
arm into the waistcoat, trying vainly to reach with the other. Bo
good-naturedly helped him. The little boy felt in the humor for fun, and
Horatio looked too comical.

"Better not put on the coat," said Bo. "It might not be big enough and
if you tore it the owner would make us pay for it."

But Horatio was excited.

"Hurry, Bo! Help me on with it. How do I look, Bo? I think I'll dress
this way all the time, hereafter. Is my hat becoming, Bo?"

    "Oh, there was an Old Bear in a hat and a coat,"

sang Bo, but he got no further, for suddenly close by there was a loud
yell, and without pausing to look behind Horatio made a wild dash in the
other direction, followed by the little boy. Glancing back as they ran,
Bo saw that they were pursued by a tall white man. He had paused only a
second to slip on his boots and trousers, and was coming after them full
speed. In one hand he carried a revolver, in the other Horatio's violin.

"Shed 'em!" he shouted. "Shed them clothes or I'll shoot!"

"Shed 'em!" echoed Bo. "Shed 'em, Horatio!"

The bear slipped off the coat and flung it behind him.

"Shed 'em!" shouted the man again, and the waistcoat followed.

"I won't give up the hat, Bo!" panted Horatio.

[Illustration: "HOW DO I LOOK, BO?"]

But Horatio was mistaken, for at that instant the world beneath his feet
suddenly opened and he disappeared. Before the boy could check himself
he plunged after the Bear and was struggling in the deep waters of a
bayou that came to a level with the bank and was covered thickly and
concealed by fallen leaves. Rising to the surface he found Horatio
clinging to a fallen tree and the man, who had now overtaken them,
holding out a limb, which the little boy gladly seized. The hat had
been already rescued.

"Well, you're a nice pair!" said their captor. "To run away with a man's
clothes and then go headlong into the bayou and get his hat all wet! I'm
glad you didn't have that fiddle, or you'd a-ruined it. I've bin wantin'
a good fiddle a long time, an' this here looks like a good one. Come out
o' that, now, an' we'll take a walk up toward the jail. I happen to be
constable of this here community."

Bo groaned as he was dragged to shore. He did not mind the wetting, for
the weather was warm, but now they had lost the violin and would be
taken to jail. Of course they would lose all their money. Perhaps
Horatio would be killed. The Bear only blinked and shook himself when he
had been also towed to the bank and had scrambled out.

"I hope you won't take us to jail, sir," said Bo. "My Bear was
mischievous, but he didn't mean any harm, and I have a little money I'll
give you if you'll return us the violin and let us go."

"You come along with me!" answered the man, sternly. "It'll take more
money than you've got to pay your fine, an' as fer that chap, we don't
want no bears roamin' loose aroun' here. March on ahead there, an' don't
try none o' your tricks."

The constable cocked his revolver, and boy and Bear hurriedly started in
the direction of the village that showed above the trees about a mile
further on.

Bo was afraid to speak to their captor again, and as he never talked
with Horatio except when they were alone, they marched along
disconsolately and in silence. Now and then the man strummed on the
violin and chuckled to himself.


When they got to the village everybody came out to look at them. The man
called out his story as they went along, and the people laughed and
jeered. Heretofore the friends had entered Louisiana villages in
triumph. Now, for the first time, they came dishonored and disgraced.
Poor Horatio looked very downcast. He knew that he was to blame for it

When they got to the court room they found that the Justice of the Peace
was away fishing, so they were lodged in jail for the night. It was only
a little one room affair, with two small iron-barred windows, quite high
from the ground. Boys climbed up and looked through these windows and
threw stones and coal in at Horatio, who huddled in a corner. By and by
the officer came with a plate of supper for Bo. He drove the boys away
and left the friends together. There was no supper for the Bear, so the
little boy divided with him.

"Bo," said Horatio, tearfully, "it was my fault. They'll let you go,
and, and--I hope they'll give you my skin, Bo."

Then they went to sleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

Early next morning there was a crowd around the jail. The Justice had
returned and the people wanted to see the fun. The friends were hustled
into court by the constable, the crowd stepping back to let Horatio
pass. The justice was rather a young man and had a good-natured face,
which made Bo more hopeful. But when they heard the constable make his
charge against them, both lost heart. They were accused of stealing and
damages and a lot of other things that they could not understand. The
Justice listened and then turned to the prisoners.

"What have you to say for yourselves?" he asked, looking straight at Bo.
At first the little boy tried to speak and could not. The court room was
still--every one waiting to hear what he was about to say. All at once
an idea came to him.

"Please, sir," he trembled, "if you will let my Bear have the violin we
will plead our case together."

"What violin? What does the boy mean?" asked the Justice, turning to the

"Oh, an ole fiddle they dropped when they took my clothes. I lef' it
down 't the house this morning."

Bo's heart sank. It was their only chance. He was about to give up when
suddenly there came another gleam of hope, though very faint. Wheeling
quickly toward the sorrow stricken Bear he shouted:--

"Perform for them, Horatio! Perform!"

The words acted on Horatio like a shock of electricity. He straightened
up with a snort that caused the crowd to fall back, knocking each other
over like dominos. Then he made a bound into the open space and stood on
his head. Then with a spring backward he landed on his feet, and waved a
bow to the Justice! Another bound and he was walking on his hands and
then, after another bow to the Court, he turned a series of somersaults
so rapidly that he looked like a great wheel! When he landed on his feet
this time, and bowed once more to the Court, the crowd broke out into a
mighty cheer of applause.

"Order!" shouted the Justice. "Order!"

It grew still, and the little boy looked at the Court anxiously.

"Please, Your Honor," he said humbly, "that's our case."

"Case!" roared the Justice. "Well, I should say that was a case of fits
and revolution."

At this the crowd cheered again until they were rapped to order by the

"I sentence you," he said solemnly, and looking sternly at Horatio, "to
sudden and disagreeable death!"

He paused, and Horatio staggered against Bo, who was very pale.


"To sudden death," continued the Court, "if I catch you running off
and falling in the water with any more of my officer's clothes. And I
now fine you, for the first offense, a performance on the common for the
whole town! Court is adjourned! Show begins at once! Constable, bring
that fiddle!"

With a wild shout the people poured outside. Many scrambled over each
other to get near Bosephus and the wonderful Bear, and when the violin
was brought and the show had begun every soul in the village was
gathered on the common.

That night, when all was over, the little boy and the Bear were the
guests of the Justice, who owned a fine plantation adjoining the
village. During the evening he had a long talk with Bo, and seemed
greatly impressed with the little boy's natural ability and shrewdness.
When they parted next morning he said:--

"Remember, if you ever feel like giving up travel, come back here and
I'll send you to school and college and make a man of you."

"I'll remember," said Bo, as they shook hands. A crowd had gathered to
see the travellers off. The constable was among them, and as they
disappeared around a bend in the road he waved and shouted with the

"Bosephus," said Horatio gravely, "I hope you don't think of deserting
me. Remember how many close places I have helped you out of. This last
was a little the closest of all, Bosephus, and I shudder to think where
you might have been today if it had not been for me."

"That's so," said the little boy solemnly. "I don't suppose they'd have
even given me your skin, Ratio."



    "Sitting on a bank where the bull frogs dream--
    Sitting on the shore of a deep, deep stream--
    Sitting on a log and waiting for a bite--
    Bound to catch our supper, if we fish--all--night."

THE little boy was holding a long cane pole that he had cut as they came
along, on the small end of which he had fastened a hook and line, baited
with a lively worm. The Bear was leaning back against a tree and
watching him lazily.

"Bo," said he presently, "I shouldn't wonder if that singing of yours
scared the fish all away."

"I wouldn't say that to you, Ratio. I know if you'd wake up and take the
fiddle and play some they'd walk right out on the bank."

The Bear laughed sleepily. He was in a comfortable position and the warm
afternoon sun was soothing. He hummed some negro lines he had heard:--

    "When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' jes' set an' wait--
    When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' must spit on yo' bait--
    When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' git across de tide,
    For dey's alw'ys bettah fishin' on de oth--ah--side."

"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Ratio," assented Bo, anxiously.
"It does look better over there, only there's no way to get across
except this slippery looking, rotten old log, and I don't feel much like
trying that."

"Walk out on it a little way, Bo," said Horatio, getting interested,
"and throw your line over there by that cypress snag. That looks like a
good place."

Bosephus rose cautiously, and, balancing himself with the long cane
pole, edged his way a few inches at a time toward the middle of the
stream, pausing every little way to be sure that the log showed no sign
of yielding. He could swim, but he did not wish for a wetting, and
besides there were a good many alligators in these Louisiana waters and
some very fierce snapping turtles. He had heard the negroes say that
alligators were particularly fond of boys, and that snapping turtles
never let go till it thundered. He had no wish to furnish supper for an
alligator and there were no signs of a thunder storm. Hence he advanced
with great prudence. When he had nearly reached the centre Horatio
called to him.

"Try it from there, Bo! Your line's long enough to reach!"

The little boy steadied himself by a limb that projected from the log
and swung his line in the direction the Bear had indicated. Then he
waited, holding his breath almost, and watching his float, which lay
silently on the water. Horatio was watching, too, with half closed eyes,
and now and then giving instructions.

"Pull it a little more to the right, Bo--nearer that root," he

Bosephus obeyed, but the float still lay silently on the water.

"Draw it a little toward you, Bo; sometimes when they think its going
away they make a rush for it."

Again the little boy did as directed, but without result.

"Lift out your bait and see if it's all right. Now fling it a little
further toward the bank."

Bo lifted out the bait, which was still lively and untouched, and flung
it far over toward the other shore. Then he waited in silence once more,
but there was no sign of even so much as a nibble.

"Oh, pshaw, Ratio!" he said at last impatiently. "I don't believe you
know anything about fishing. Either that or there are no fish in
here--one of the two."

He had turned his head toward the Bear as he spoke and was not looking
at his float. All at once the Bear sat straight up, pointing at the

"Your cork's gone!" he shouted. "You've got one! Pull, Bo, pull!"

The little boy turned so quickly that he almost lost his balance and
could not immediately obey. Horatio was wild with excitement.

"Why don't you pull?" he howled. "Do you expect him to climb up your
pole? Are you waiting for him to make his toilet before he appears?
Well, talk about fishermen!"

Bosephus was struggling madly to follow instructions. He was holding to
the dead limb like grim death and pulling fiercely at the pole with one
hand. The fish must be a large one, for it swung furiously from side to
side, but could not be brought to the surface. Horatio on the bank was
still shouting and dancing violently.

"You'll lose him!" he yelled; "you'll never in the world land him that
way. You ought to go fishing for tin fish in a tub! Just let me out
there; I'll show you how to fish!" and Horatio made a rush toward the
log on which Bo was standing.

[Illustration: "PULL, BO, PULL!"]

"Go back! Go back!" screamed the little boy. "It won't hold us both!"
But the Bear was too much excited by this time to heed any caution. He
hurried to the centre of the log and seizing the pole from Bo's hand
gave a fierce pull. The fish swung clear of the water and far out on the
bank, but the strain on their support was too great. There was a loud
cracking sound, and before they knew what had happened both were
struggling in the water.

"Help! Help!" howled Horatio. "I'm drowning!"

"Hold to the end of the log!" shouted Bo. "I'll swim ashore and tow you
in with the pole!"

He struck out as he spoke and in a few strokes was near enough to seize
some bushes that overhung the water. Suddenly he heard Horatio give
forth a scream so wild that he whirled about to look. Then he saw
something that made him turn cold. In a half circle, a few feet away
from where Horatio was clinging to the end of the broken log for dear
life, there had risen from the water a number of long, black, ugly
heads. A drove of alligators!

"Bo! Bo!" shrieked the wretched Bear. "They're after me! They'll eat me
alive--skin and all! Save me! Save me!"

The little boy swung himself to the shore and dashed up the bank. His
first thought had been to seize the fishing pole and with it to drag
Horatio to safety. But at that instant his eye fell on the violin. He
had learned to play very well himself during the last few weeks and he
remembered the night of the panther dance in the Arkansaw woods. He
snatched up the instrument and struck the bow across the strings.

"Sing, Horatio!" he shouted. "It's your turn to sing!" and Bosephus
broke out into a song that after the first line the Bear joined as if he
never expected to sing again on earth.

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, there was an Old Bear went out for a swim,
    And the alligators came just to take a look at him,


[Illustration: Music]

    And the Bear was glad to see 'em, and he wanted them to stay,
    And he sang a song to please 'em so they wouldn't go away."

As the music rolled out on the water there rose to the surface another
half circle of dark objects. The Bear shut his eyes and his voice grew
faint. They were snapping turtles.

"Stop, Bo!" he wailed. "It's no use. It only brings more of 'em, and new

"No, no; go on," whispered Bo, who had crept down quite to the water's
edge. "Now--ready! sing!"

[Illustration: Music]

    "Then 'tis 'Gator, Alligator, we expect to see you later,
    If you really have to leave us--if you can't remain to tea--

[Illustration: Music]

    Then 'tis Turtle, Mr. Turtle, you will notice we are fertile,
    In providing entertainment for our com--pa--nee."

New arrivals appeared constantly until the water and logs and stumps by
the water's edge were alive with listening creatures. Still remembering
the panther dance the boy called in a whisper to Horatio:--

"Softly now; sing it again."

They repeated the song, letting their voices and music gradually blend
into the whispering of the trees. Bo sang with closed eyes, but the
watching Bear saw the listening circle of heads sink lower and lower so
gently that he could not be sure when the water had closed over them.
From roots and logs and stumps dark forms slid noiselessly into the
stream and disappeared. The music died away and ceased. Horatio looked
at the little boy eagerly.

[Illustration: "HELP! HELP!"]

"Quick, the pole, Bo," he called softly. "They're all gone."

A moment later he was holding on to the cane pole with teeth and claws
and being towed to shore. As he marched up the bank he picked up the
large fish that was still flopping at the end of the line.

"Very fine, Bosephus," he said, holding it up. "You wouldn't have had
that fish for supper if it hadn't been for me, Bosephus."



    "Going back to Arkansaw as fast as we can go--
    Never mind the winter time--never mind the snow,
    For the weather's not so chilly as the Louisiana law,
    And we'll feel a good deal safer in the Ar--kan--saw."

IT had happened in this way. The afternoon before Christmas had come and
the little boy and the Bear had been talking over a Christmas dinner for
the next day.

"Bosephus," Horatio had said, "we must have something extra. I should
like a real old-fashioned dinner. One such as I used to have; but, of
course, that is all over now." And there was an untamed, regretful look
in his eyes.

"Ratio," said Bo, "we have got a lot of money--nearly two hundred
dollars. We can afford to have something good. I will buy a duck and a
turkey and maybe some pies. We'll take a holiday and eat from morning
till night if we feel like it."

The Bear smiled at this thought and touched the strings of the violin.

    "Oh, we'll buy a tender turkey, and we'll buy a youthful duck,
    And some pies, perhaps, and cookies, and some doughnuts, just for luck,
    And we'll take our Christmas dinner where the balmy breezes stray,
    And we'll spread it in the sunshine and we'll eat--all--day."

Suddenly he paused in his singing and listened. They were coming out
into an open space and there was a sound of a voice speaking. Somebody
was talking in a foreign language that Bo did not understand, but the
Bear trembled with eagerness.

"Bo," he whispered, "that's Italian. That's the way my first teacher
talked. The one that abused me--and died."

The Bear licked out his tongue fiercely at this memory and pushed
forward into the open, the little boy following. As they stepped out
where they could see, Bosephus uttered an exclamation and Horatio a
snort of surprise. By the roadside sat a dark-browed, villainous-looking
Italian and before him stood a miserable half-starved bear cub, which he
was trying to teach. He would speak a few words to it and then beat it
fiercely with a heavy stick. The little bear cowered and trembled and
could not obey. Horatio gave a low dangerous growl as Bo held him back.
The Italian turned and saw them.

"What are you beating that cub for?" asked Bo, sternly.

The Italian looked at him evilly.

"Maka him grow an' dance an' playa fid, lika yo' bear," he said,
sullenly. "Soa he maka da mun'."

"That won't do it. You can teach him better with kindness. Throw that
stick away. Aren't you ashamed of yourself."

"Minda yo' own biz," was the insolent reply.

The little boy saw that it would not be safe to stay there any longer.
The cub was whining pitifully and Horatio was becoming furious. He
turned away, the Bear following reluctantly. When they had gone perhaps
a half a mile Horatio paused.

"Let's camp here," he said. "This is a nice place and I'm tired."

Bosephus was tired, too. The day before Christmas with its merry
preparation had been a big day among the plantations and the friends had
reaped a harvest.

"All right, Ratio," he said, and they made preparations for the night,
though it was still quite early.

[Illustration: "MAKA HIM GROW AN' DANCE AN' PLAY A 'FID'."]

"Bo," said the Bear, reflectively, "Christmas always reminds me of
when I was a little cub like that poor little fellow we saw back yonder.
I was a Christmas present--by accident."

"A Christmas present by accident! How was that?"

"It was this way. I was always brave and adventurous, as you know. My
folks lived in a very large tree and were all asleep for the winter
except me. I stayed awake so as to run away and see the world. Well, I
started out and I travelled and I travelled. It was all woods and I lost
my way. By and by I got very tired and climbed up into a thick evergreen
tree to rest. I suppose I went to sleep and some men who were out
hunting for a Christmas tree must have picked out mine and tied the
limbs together tight with cords and cut it down. Then I suppose they
must have carried me home and set the tree up in its place and untied
the cords, for the first I knew I was tumbling out on to a carpet in a
big room, and a lot of children were screaming and running in every
direction. I was bigger and some fatter than that cub we saw with the
Italian--poor little fellow.

"I'd like to talk to that villain about five minutes alone," continued
Horatio, grimly. "I'm sure I could interest him. I'd tell him about the
man that used to beat me, and I might give him an imitation of what
happened to him," and the big fellow rose and walked back and forth in

"But go on with your story, Ratio; what happened to you after you fell
out of the Christmas tree?"

"Oh! the children tamed me and fed me till I got so big they were afraid
of me, and then I ate up some young pigs and a calf and went away."

"You ran away, you mean. What happened then?"

"Well, I went quite a distance and fell in with a circus. I learned to
dance there and stayed with them a while. But one day the young ibex
came in to see me and they couldn't find anything of him after that
except his horns, and seemed suspicious of me, so I went away again."

"Oh, Ratio!"

"Yes; I travelled and changed about a good deal till by and by I fell in
with the Italian who promised to teach me to play the violin, and he did
teach me some, as you know, but he wasn't kind to me, so I--I wore
mourning for him a while, and went away again. Then I met up with you,
and you taught me the second part of our tune, and we went into
partnership and I reformed, and we've been together ever since. We've
been in some pretty close places together, Bosephus, but I've always
managed to pull us through safely, and you have behaved very nobly, too,
at times, Bosephus--very nobly, indeed."

"Are you sure you have reformed, Horatio?"

Horatio swung the violin to his shoulder and drew the bow across the
strings. Then he sang softly:--

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, there's some folks say a nigger won't steal,
    But I caught one in my corn-fiel'.

[Illustration: Music]

    And there's other folks say that a Bear will tame,
    But I wouldn't trust him with my----"

he hesitated, and then, with a final flourish,

    "with my money all the same."

The little boy laughed. The Bear seemed to have forgotten the cruel
Italian and was in his usual good humor.

"I think I can trust you, Horatio; I'm not a bit afraid of you."

"Bo," said Ratio, speaking suddenly, "speaking of Christmas trees, we
ought to have one. I saw a beautiful one up the stream yonder. I think
I'll go and get it, if you'll look after the supper while I'm gone."

"Why, yes, Horatio, only don't be long about it."

Horatio struck the violin with a long vigorous sweep.

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, we'll have a tree for Christmas in this Louisiana isthmus,
    Where the orange trees are waving and the jasmines are in bloom;

[Illustration: Music]

    And I'll have a Christmas dinner, if I don't I am a sinner,
    And I'll eat it if it sends me to my doom--doom--doom."

Bo laughed again. He had never seen Horatio in a better humor.

"If you eat too much pie it may send you to your doom--doom--doom," he
said. "Hurry back, now, with that tree. You can pull it up by the roots
and we'll plant it again here. Then it will keep right on growing."

The bear set out up the stream and the boy busied himself with building
a fire and taking out of a sack a lot of food that had been given them
by the planters during the afternoon. He spread this on the leaves and
moss and then sat down and gazed into the bright blaze. It was pleasant
and warm and he was quite tired. After a while he wondered sleepily why
the Bear didn't come back, and concluded he was having a hard time
pulling up the tree. Then he began thinking of all the adventures they
had had together and of the little cub bear and the cruel Italian.

"I was tempted to let Horatio at him," he thought. "A man like that
should be beaten until he couldn't stand. That poor little creature! How
wistfully he looked at us. He kept whining--perhaps he was telling Ratio

The little boy's head nodded forward now and then and presently he
slept. He slept soundly and the moments flew by unheeded. He was having
a long dream about old man Todd and the girls and the two candy hearts,
when suddenly there arose close at hand such a commotion, such a
mingling of excited language, fierce snarls and crashing of brush that
the little boy leaped to his feet wildly.

"Ratio!" he shouted. "Ratio! where are you?"

The only answer was the redoubled fury of the furious uproar, which Bo
now located at the edge of the road but a few feet away. He tore through
the brush hastily in that direction. As he reached the spot the turmoil
ceased and he heard the sound of running feet. Dashing through into the
road he beheld a strange sight. A half-naked man was disappearing over
the hill just beyond, and Horatio, holding some rags of clothing in one
hand and the paw of the little bear in the other, was looking after him
hungrily, as if about to pursue. Before him lay the Christmas tree badly
broken and bruised.

"Ratio!" exclaimed Bo. "What have you been doing?"

The Bear looked at Bo sheepishly.

"I went for the Christmas tree," he said, meekly, "and just as I was
coming back the Italian man came along, and he was beating this little
chap, and so I tried the Christmas tree on him to see how he liked it.
Then we got into an argument, and when he went away he left the cub with
us and didn't take all of his clothing."

The little boy reflected a moment.

"I hope, Horatio," he said, gravely, "you did not mean to break your
agreement about, you know--about dinners."

"I didn't, Bo; honest, I didn't. I wouldn't touch that fellow if I was
starving. But I did pretty nearly break his neck, Bo, and I'm glad of


"Ratio," said Bo, solemnly, "it's very wrong, I suppose; very wrong,
indeed; but I'm glad, too. Only we've got to postpone that Christmas
dinner. That fellow will be back here to-night with officers, and we've
had all the law we want. We start for Arkansaw in five minutes. A bite
of supper and then right about! ready! march!"

And this was the reason Horatio and Bosephus and the little cub bear
were travelling swiftly northward in spite of the winter weather that
was not yet over. The cub was small and weak and Horatio, who loved him
and sometimes called him "little brother," often carried him. They gave
no performances, but only pushed forward, mile after mile, chanting

    "Going back to Arkansaw as fast as we can go--
    Never mind the winter time and never mind the snow,
    For the weather's not so chilly as the Louisiana law,
    And we'll feel a good deal safer in the Ar--kan--saw."




    "Oh, the wind blows fair and the snow is gone
    In the Arkansaw when the spring comes on.
    Oh, the sun shines warm and the wind blows fair,
    For the boy and the cub and the Old--Black--Bear."

SO sang Bosephus and Horatio as they sat side by side in the doorway of
a deserted lumberman's cabin in the depths of an Arkansaw forest. The
cub rescued from the brutal Italian and brought with them on their hasty
journey out of Louisiana, stood a few feet away watching them intently.
Now and then he made an awkward attempt at dancing, which caused
Bosephus and Horatio to stop their music and laugh. He had grown fat and
saucy with good treatment, and seemed to enjoy the amusement he caused.
At a little distance behind him, some seated and some standing, and all
enjoying the entertainment, were seven other bears of various sizes. The
colony so long planned by Horatio and Bosephus was established.

The long journey out of Louisiana had been made rapidly and with no
delays. Though midwinter when begun, the weather had been beautiful at
the start, and there had been few storms and but little cold since. The
cub had gradually confided his story to Horatio, who loved him and
continued to call him affectionately "little brother." He had been
captured in a very deep woods, he said, by hunters, who sold him to the
Italian. He did not know where these woods were, but as the friends
crossed the Louisiana line and entered lower Arkansaw he grew more and
more excited every day, for he declared these were so like his native
woods that he could almost hear his mother's voice crooning the evening
lullaby. Soon after, they came one evening upon a deserted lumberman's
camp and took possession of the one cabin that still remained. It was a
good shelter and there was a stream with fine fish in it close at hand.
But when the friends awoke next morning the little bear was gone.

They were very sorry, for they had grown much attached to the little
chap and he had seemed to be fond of them also. It was very lonely in
the deep forest without him. Horatio sighed.

"He didn't appreciate us, Bo," he said, sadly. "He's gone back to be a
wild bear. He never got the taste of men--tastes, I mean, and I suppose
these woods made him homesick. They are like my old woods, too, and I
get homesick sometimes--even now." Then the boy and the Bear went to the
brook to fish and the day passed gloomily.

But that night, when Bo had built a fire in the big fireplace which
almost filled one end of the cabin, and was cooking the fish, there came
a muffled scratching sound at the door. Horatio sprang to his feet

"That's Cub," he said, excitedly.

The boy ran to the door and opened it. Sure enough, the little cub stood
before him, and out of the darkness behind gleamed seven other pairs of
eyes. The boy was brave, but as he saw that row of fiery orbs he felt
his flesh creep and his hair began to prickle.

"Horatio!" he called, softly, "come quick."


The Bear was already by his side, and a moment later with the cub
stepped out into the night. Then Bosephus heard low growls followed by a
strange commotion, which he at first took to be the sound of fighting.
Suddenly Horatio ran to him in great excitement.

"Bo, Bo!" he exclaimed, "it's my family! and, oh, Bosephus, it's Cub's
family, too! We're really brothers, and we didn't know it!" Then he ran
back into the dark and presently returned with the cub and the seven
other bears, following. The newcomers stared and blinked at the little
boy as they entered the lighted cabin and then withdrew to a darker
corner, where they sat silently regarding everything that passed, like
strangers from the country. The cub sat with them and whispered softly,
in the bear tongue, and Horatio now and then went over, too, and no
doubt told them marvellous tales of his strange adventures. Late that
night all lay down to sleep--the little boy in the arms of his faithful

And so the Bear Colony had begun, even sooner than Bo and Ratio had
expected, and they had given up all notion of travelling any further.
The lumber camp was deserted for good by the woodcutters, for the
largest trees had been cut out and taken away long before. The cabin was
headquarters--Bosephus was president, Horatio prime minister, and the
cub, because of his adventures and slight educational advancement, was
chief assistant. Early spring was upon the land, and the woods were
beginning to be sweet with song and blossom. Bosephus was almost afraid
at first that, with the native woods and the renewal of home ties,
Horatio might return more or less to his savage instincts, but he became
gentler and more docile than ever. His place as prime minister and chief
instructor made him realize his advancement and the importance of good
behavior. He was grave and dignified, and about the fire in the evening,
played the violin with an air of skill and superiority that was very
impressive. Bosephus at first enjoyed it all immensely. The bears were
obedient and submissive, and were gradually learning to understand his
language. He had more money than he would ever need and was lord of all
he surveyed.

But gradually there came a change. He grew tired of seeing only the
black faces and shining eyes of his subjects and of hearing only the
singing of bees and birds. At first he did not realize what was the
matter. Then it came to him at last that this life of the forest was
palling upon him and that, like the cub, he yearned for his own
kind--the faces of men.

One morning he divided up the money into two equal parts and slipped out
to where Horatio was sunning himself and playing softly before the

"Horatio," he said, tenderly, "I have divided up the money. Here is your
half. You have been the best friend I ever had and it breaks my heart to
leave you, but I can't live away from my own race any longer. I am going
back to Louisiana, to the planter who told me to come back and he would
send me to school and college and make a man of me," and then the little
boy suddenly broke down and fell weeping into his companion's arms.

For some moments Horatio could not speak. Then he spoke, sobbing between
every word.

"Bo--Bo--you--you're--not--not going to--to leave me! Oh, Bo!" and the
poor Bear gave way completely and wept on the little boy's shoulder.
They were all alone, as the others had gone out together for a walk. At
last Horatio put the boy gently from him and took up his violin. He
began to play very softly and sang in a breaking voice:--

    "Oh, he's going away to leave me to the Lou'siana shore,
    And I'll never see my darling, my Bosephus, any more;
    He's divided up the money, and he's going far away,
    And my poor old heart is breaking but he--will--not--stay.
    We have battled with the weather--we have faced the world together--
    Never caring why or whether--never minding when or where--
    But he says we now must sever--happy days are done forever,
    For Bosephus and the fiddle and the Old--Black--Bear!"


An hour later Bo was wending his way southward through the sweet spring
woods alone. In his inner breast pocket was stored every dollar the
friends had earned together.

"I will never need it now, Bo," Horatio had said at parting, "and you
will need a great many times as much. Take it and sometimes think of
your far off faithful Ratio." And then, after one long embrace, they had
parted. And now the little boy was trying to keep up courage to carry
out what he had undertaken. At every turn in the path he was tempted to
return and throw himself in Horatio's arms. But he pressed on, hoping to
arrive at some sort of habitation for the night, which he did not like
to pass alone in the woods.

"Poor old Ratio," he thought. "He will be happier with his own people
after a while. And perhaps he will really civilize them." He turned and
cast one long look in the direction of the colony which he could no
longer see. Then facing about again he hurried forward. About a mile
further on he paused at a little brook for a drink. He was bending over
the water when he heard a sudden crashing in the bushes behind him. He
started up instantly and seized a heavy stick that lay close at hand.
Nearer and nearer came the tearing through the brush, like some heavy
animal in fierce chase. The boy stepped out of the path to let the
creature pass, and then, all at once, he gave a cry of joy and surprise.
Headlong out of the bushes, stumbling and rolling at his feet, with
tears streaming from his eyes and violin under his arm, was Horatio.

"Bo, Bo!" he cried. "I couldn't stand it. I'm going with you. That kind
planter will give me a place to stay, I know, and maybe if he sends you
to college he'll let me go, too. I could play for the college boys, Bo,
and help pay your way. Don't send me back, Bo! Don't send me back!"

Bo embraced him silently.

"Why, of course not, Ratio," he said at last, "but I thought you wanted
to have a colony of your own people."

"I did, Bo, but I have turned it over to Cub. He can take care of it.
Like you, Bo, I have been civilized too long to live away from men! And,
besides, Bo, you need me to protect you." Horatio recovered his dignity
at this point and continued, gravely, "You are brave and noble,
Bosephus, but you need some one near you who is ever ready to face any
danger. Let us sing now, Bosephus, as we travel onward."

And with a joyful scrape of the strings and a sweet burst of melody the
friends set their faces once more to the South.

[Illustration: Music]

    "Oh, there was a little boy and his name was Bo,
    Went out into the woods when the moon was low.

[Illustration: Music]

    And he met an Old Bear who was hungry for a snack,
    And the folks are still waiting for Bosephus to come back.

[Illustration: Music]

    "For the boy became the teacher of this kind and gentle creature,
    Who was faithful in his friendship and was watchful in his care,

[Illustration: Music]

    And they travelled on forever and they'll never, never sever,
    Bosephus and the fiddle and the Old--Black--Bear."

[Illustration: "And they traveled on forever"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 20, "TO" changed to "BO" (BO was awake first)

Page 66, two lines of text were transposed. The original read:

   of them----"
   down here are mighty fond of bear meat, and there's such a lot

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