“Good Heavens!  I saw them again; and do just look at the dog.”

Hector stopped suddenly, and, stretching himself along the ground, his nose resting between his forepaws, began to whine and tremble.  Presently he ran back to us, and crept under our feet.  The cracking of branches, and the heavy tread of some large animal, sounded close beside us.

Moodie turned the open lanthorn in the direction from whence the sounds came, and shouted as loud as he could, at the same time endeavouring to urge forward the fear-stricken dog, whose cowardice was only equalled by my own.

Just at that critical moment the wick of the candle flickered a moment in the socket, and expired.  We were left, in perfect darkness, alone with the bear—­for such we supposed the animal to be.

My heart beat audibly; a cold perspiration was streaming down my face, but I neither shrieked nor attempted to run.  I don’t know how Moodie got me over the creek.  One of my feet slipped into the water, but, expecting, as I did every moment, to be devoured by master Bruin, that was a thing of no consequence.  My husband was laughing at my fears, and every now and then he turned towards our companion, who continued following us at no great distance, and gave him an encouraging shout.  Glad enough was I when I saw the gleam of the light from our little cabin window shine out among the trees; and, the moment I got within the clearing I ran, without stopping until I was safely within the house.  John was sitting up for us, nursing Donald.  He listened with great interest to our adventure with the bear, and thought that Bruin was very good to let us escape without one affectionate hug.

“Perhaps it would have been otherwise had he known, Moodie, that you had not only killed his good lady, but were dining sumptuously off her carcass every day.”

The bear was determined to have something in return for the loss of his wife.  Several nights after this, our slumbers were disturbed, about midnight, by an awful yell, and old Jenny shook violently at our chamber door.

“Masther, masther, dear!  Get up wid you this moment, or the bear will desthroy the cattle intirely.”

Half asleep, Moodie sprang from his bed, seized his gun, and ran out.  I threw my large cloak round me, struck a light, and followed him to the door.  The moment the latter was unclosed, some calves that we were rearing rushed into the kitchen, closely followed by the larger beasts, who came bellowing headlong down the hill, pursued by the bear.

It was a laughable scene, as shown by that paltry tallow-candle.  Moodie, in his night-shirt, taking aim at something in the darkness, surrounded by the terrified animals; old Jenny, with a large knife in her hand, holding on to the white skirts of her master’s garment, making outcry loud enough to frighten away all the wild beasts in the bush—­herself almost in a state of nudity.

“Och, masther, dear! don’t timpt the ill-conditioned crathur wid charging too near; think of the wife and the childher.  Let me come at the rampaging baste, an’ I’ll stick the knife into the heart of him.”