BANGING A BEAR
Arrived at the cabin, Florence hurried into her bathing suit. All the
time she was changing she was thinking: “I only hope those minnows are
still there. Tillie promises to become an interesting friend. I do not
wish to lose her by a false move now.”
She need not have feared. The minnows were there still, flashing in the
sunlight.
As Florence appeared with two large buckets, Tillie cried out in great
delight. “We’ll get enough for two days! Put the buckets on the beach.
And please hurry!”
Florence followed her instructions, then seizing one end of the net,
plunged after Tillie into the water.
“Like to fish?” Tillie asked, as she executed a deft curve with the net.
“Yes. Do you?”
“I love it!” Tillie’s tone was full of meaning. “But there’s so little
time. There are boats to bail out, camping places to clean up, lines to
mend, minnies to catch, and a lot more things. We’re never through.
Honest, I haven’t had this suit off, except at night, for days.”
Florence envied her. She adored the very tasks this girl had come to
hate.
“There now!” exclaimed Tillie. “We’ve got ’em. Just swing your end in;
then up with it.”
The brown mesh of the net was all ashimmer with tiny, flapping fishes.
“Seems a shame,” said Florence, as she helped scoop the minnows into one
of the waiting buckets. “So many tiny lives snuffed out just for fun.”
“They wouldn’t ever get much bigger,” said Tillie philosophically. “Pop
says they’re just naturally little fellows like some of the rest of us.”
She set the bucket down. “We’ll leave this one right here. We’ll take the
other one down a piece. We’ll get one more haul. That’ll be enough. Then
Turkey’ll be here.”
Once more they dragged the net over the sandy shallows, circled, closed
in, then lifted a multitude of little fishes from the water.
The last wriggling minnow had gone flapping into the bucket, when
suddenly Tillie straightened up with first a puzzled, then an angry look
on her face.
Seizing a heavy driftwood pole that lay upon the beach, she dashed away
over the sand.
To her horror, Florence saw that the strange bear, who had undoubtedly
followed them, had just thrust his head into their other bucket of
minnows.
“Bears like fish,” she thought. “Tillie will be killed!
“Tillie! Tillie!” she screamed. “Don’t! Don’t!”
She may as well have shouted at the wind. Tillie’s stout arms brought the
club down twice on the bear’s head. Thwack! Thwack!
With a loud grunt, the bear turned about and vanished into the brush.
At the same instant Petite Jeanne appeared at the door. She had heard
Florence scream.
“What happened?” she asked.
“A—a—something tried to steal our minnows,” Florence stammered. “I—I
think it was a dog. Tillie, here, hit him.
“Oh! Tillie, meet my buddy, Petite Jeanne. She’s from France; an
actress.”
“An actress!” Tillie stared at Jeanne as she might have looked at an
angel. “I’ve heard of them,” she said simply.
“I thought,” Florence said in a low tone to Tillie, “that you were afraid
of that bear.”
“Afraid—” Tillie scratched her head. “Yes, I am. But when I get good and
mad, as Pop says, I’m not afraid of nobody nor nothin’.”
At that moment there came a loud whoop from the water. It was Turkey
Trot.
“Got any?” he shouted.
“Plenty,” Tillie shrilled back.
The boat swung in. Tillie, with a bucket in each hand, waded out to it.
The precious cargo was stowed safely aboard; then seizing the oars, with
a good-bye and thank you, Tillie rowed rapidly away.
“She’s a dear!” exclaimed Florence. “We’re going to like her a lot.
“Think of living in a bathing suit, not as a pose, but as a mere matter
of business!” she said to herself some time later. “What a life that must
be!
“Jeanne won’t know about that bear,” she resolved a moment later. “She
must not know about those gypsies. It would disturb her. And she must
rest; must not be disturbed in any way. Believe me, this being a ‘mother’
to a budding actress is no snap. But it’s lots of fun, all the same!”