W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out

In the woods, to shoot a Bear—an' he

Wuz goin' along—an' goin' along, you know,

An' purty soon he heerd somefin go "Wooh!" —

'ist that-a-way—"Woo-oohf"

—James Whitcomb Riley.

You ought to get Mr. Riley's poems and read the bear story that little Alex, who couldn't talk plain, but who knew all about bears, " 'ist maked up his-own-se'f."

Did you ever think why little American boys and girls know more stories about bears, and are more interested in bears than they are in any other wild animals? It must be because white children and bears are such old acquaintances. They have always lived near neighbors, both in the old world and in the new. In northern countries, where white people live, there never have been any lions or other big, flesh-eating beasts, so Mr. Bear has had the woods and mountains and frozen oceans very much to himself. Besides, although he can kill deer and buffalo bigger than himself, he rarely attacks men unless they hunt him. If caught as a cub, he can be tamed and taught all sorts of cunning tricks. And he is so bright and does so many almost human things, that we rather like him, even if we are afraid of him.

Little Alex knew that "bears kin climb up higher in the trees than any little boys in all the wo-r-r-ld!" that the big papa and mama bears "get mad" if you bother their babies; that they think out new ways to escape traps and catch their enemies. So now, maybe this story is really true:

" Once upon a time, a Puritan boy who came to live in America was lost in the forest. He climbed a tall tree to look over the country to find himself. The tree was hollow to the bottom. Suddenly he slipped and fell into the well-like hole, and dropped plump onto something soft and warm and squirmy and grunty. He knew at once he had fallen into a bear's den onto the cubs, and was badly scared, for he couldn't climb out. 'Way, 'way up he could see a round patch of blue sky. Then he couldn't see it. The hole was corked like a bottle by mama bear coming home. He remembered that a bear always comes down backwards, just as a boy does.

"Down she scrambled, scratching and 'woof-ing,' and backed her hairy body right into the boy. He grabbed her shaggy coat and hung on for dear life, and screamed. Very likely the bear thought a wild cat was on her back. Wild cats have terrible claws, and the bear was where she couldn't fight. So she climbed up as fast as she could, and pulled the boy out of the hole. They both 'ran fourteen miles in fifteen days and never looked behind them.'"