One afternoon Mrs. Bruin was obliged to leave her cubs alone. She
cautioned them not to go far from their cave while she was away.
They had their usual play together, rolling and tumbling and chasing
each other. They ran farther and farther away from the cave, as no
mother was there to call them back. They ran around trees and scrambled
over logs; they climbed over rocks and stepped into bogs. Growing tired,
they turned to go to their cave to rest.
Where was it?
They looked into one cave. That was not theirs. They looked into another
cave. That was not theirs. They poked their noses into hollow trees,
they sniffed around between the rocks. Had their cave moved away! Oh!
where were they! No home! No mother!
Oh dear! Frightened nearly to death, these young cubs took to their
heels. They did not know which way to go, but they ran. Splash! Splash!
Into a stream that he didn’t see, tumbled one little cub. Such a howling
as was set up, by the other little cub. And the howling was not in vain.
It had a very familiar tone to Mrs. Bruin, who was walking home that
way.
She hurried to the spot from which it came. She saw at once the plight
of the cubs, and that they were her very own babies. She made a dash for
the little one struggling in the water and pulled him out by the nape of
the neck. Mrs. Bruin shook him pretty hard, perhaps to shake off the
water, and perhaps to punish him a little. She was very much surprised
to find them in this part of the woods all alone by themselves. She
marched them off to their home. The walk was an instructive but not a
jolly one.
[Illustration]