In a twinkling, Miranda was on her feet, violently chastising the Bear with her chubby hands. “Naughty, bad Snoofie!” she screamed. “Take Miwanda’s bewwies!”
Snoof cast a glance of peculiar intelligence at me, winked suggestively, then ambled off into the forest to rejoin her Cub, who was calling her plaintively.
I hastened to find what the Bear had thrown away. It was a little china mug, ornate with blue and gold, and the inscription, “For A Good Girl,” lettered on it. All around were scattered the bright red berries which Miranda had picked. At once I understood—they were poison, and Snoof had saved Miranda’s life.
In a few well-chosen words, I acquainted the mother with the facts. She promptly spanked Miranda and carried her into the house, yelling like any normal child. In an hour she returned, pale, haggard, and trembling with emotion.
“To think,” she said, brokenly, “that that old Bear should have saved my child’s life! I will never doubt the wisdom of Providence again. Had it not been for Snoof, Miranda would at this moment have been a cold, cold corpse. The Little Sister of the Woods would have known the ‘pitty Bears’ no more!”
I was gratified at the change in my loved one’s demeanour, but the next morning the bars were up again and Mrs. Kirsten treated me with the barest politeness.
Some days later the grizzly came up to the hotel, dressed in the coat and vest, collar and tie, which I had left in the woods. He had evidently found that the trousers did not fit him, for he had made no more attempt than a Highlander to dress the rest of him, and went about, with equal unconcern, in his bare legs.
He coquetted around for a long time, watching for Miranda, then Snoof appeared, with a tin pail in each hand. She had come to the hotel, as she often did, for milk and molasses. Miranda came out and spoke in friendly fashion with the grizzly, using a language I did not understand, but she paid no attention whatever to Snoof. Having secured her milk and molasses, Snoof went away, leaving her suitor conversing amiably with Miranda, but I could see a red look in her eyes that boded no good to anybody.
The end came shortly afterward. Miranda and I had been playing croquet and Miranda still kept her mallet in her tiny, chubby hand. Not expecting visitors from the suburbs, Miranda wore her shoes. I mention this, that the reader may judge whether or not it had any influence upon what followed.