tommy’s thoughts were straying. somehow they were straying most of the time these days. they had been, ever since that day when he had wished himself into a beaver. he dreamed of the great woods where rivers have their beginnings in gurgling brooks, and great lakes reflect moss-gray giants of the forest; where the beavers still ply their many trades unharmed by man, the deer follow paths of their own making, the otters make merry on their slippery-slides, the lynx pass through the dark shadows, themselves but grayer shadows, and bears go fishing, gather berries, and hunt the stored sweets of the bees. in short, the spell of the great woods, the wilderness unmarred by the hand of man, was upon tommy.

eagerly he read all that he could find about the feathered and furred folk who dwell there, and the longing to know more about them and their ways, to learn these things for himself, grew and grew. he wanted to hear things with his own ears and see things with his own eyes.

sometimes he went over to the green forest near his home and played that it was the great woods and that he was a mighty hunter. then happy jack the gray squirrel became a fierce-eyed, tufted-eared, bob-tailed lynx, saucy chatterer the red squirrel became a crafty fisher, the footprints of reddy fox grew in size to those of a wolf, peter rabbit was transformed into his cousin of the north, jumper the hare, and a certain old black stump was buster bear.

but it was only once in a while that tommy played the hunter. somehow, since he had learned so many things about the lives of the little feathered and furred people about him, he cared less and less about hunting them. so most often, when the green forest became the great woods, he was buster bear. that was more fun than being a hunter, much more fun. there was only one drawback—he didn’t know as much about buster bear and his ways as he wished he did.

so now, as he trudged along towards the pasture to drive home the cows for the evening milking, his thoughts were straying to the great woods and buster bear. as he came to the old wishing-stone he glanced up at the sun. there was no need to hurry. he would have plenty of time to sit down there a while. so down he sat on the big gray rock and his thoughts went straying, straying deep into the great woods far from cows and milking and the woodpile just beyond the kitchen door. bears never had to chop wood.

“i wish,” said tommy dreamily, “that i were a bear.”

that was all, just a little spoken wish, but tommy was no longer a dreamy boy with evening chores yet to be done. he was a little black furry animal, not unlike an overgrown puppy, following at the heels of a great gaunt black bear. in short, tommy was a bear himself. all about him was the beautiful wilderness, the great woods of his boyish dreams. just behind him was another little bear, his twin sister, and the big bear was their mother.

presently they came to an opening where there were no trees, but a tangle of brush. years before, fire had swept through there, though tommy knew nothing about that. in fact, tommy knew little about anything as yet save that it was good, oh, so good, to be alive. on the edge of this opening mother bear paused and sat up on her haunches while she sniffed the air. the two little bears did the same thing. they didn’t know why, but they did it because mother bear did. then she dropped to all fours and told them to remain right where they were until she called them. they watched her disappear in the brush and waited impatiently. it seemed to them a very long time before they heard her call and saw her head above the bushes as she sat up, but really it was only a few minutes. then they scampered to join her, each trying to be first.

when they reached her, such a glad sight as greeted them! all about were little bushes loaded with berries that seemed to have stolen their color from the sky. they were blueberries. with funny little squeals and grunts they stripped the berries from the bushes and ate and ate until they could eat no more. then they wrestled with each other, and stood up on their hind legs and boxed until they were out of breath and glad to lie down for a rest while mother bear continued to stuff herself with berries.

it was very beautiful there in the great woods, and the two little bears just bubbled over with high spirits. they played hide-and-seek behind stumps and trees. they played tag. they chased each other up tall trees. one would climb to the top of a tall stump, and the other would follow and try to knock the first one off.

sometimes both would tumble down and land with a thump that would knock the breath from their little bodies. the bumps would hurt sometimes and make them squeal. this would bring mother bear in a hurry to see what had happened; and when she would find that no harm had come to them, she would growl a warning and sometimes spank them for giving her a fright.

but best of all they loved to wrestle and box, and, though they didn’t know it, they were learning something. they were learning to be quick in their movements. they were learning how to strike swiftly and how to dodge quite as swiftly. once in a while they would stand and not try to dodge, but see who could stand the hardest blow. and once in a while, i am sorry to say, they quarreled and fought. then mother bear would take a hand and cuff and spank them until they squalled.

very early they learned that mother bear was to be minded. once she sent them up a tree and told them to stay there until she returned. then she went off to investigate something which[99] interested her. when she returned, the two little cubs were nowhere to be seen. they had grown tired of waiting for her to return and had come down to do a little investigating of their own. it didn’t take her long to find them. oh, my, no! and when she did—well, all the neighbors knew that two little cubs had disobeyed, and two little cubs were sure, very sure, that they never would do so again. tommy was one.

at first, during those lovely summer days, mother bear never went far from them. you see, when they were very small, there were dangers. oh, yes, there are dangers even for little bears. tufty the lynx would have liked nothing better than a meal of tender young bear, and howler the wolf would have rejoiced in an opportunity to snatch one of them without the risk of an encounter with mother bear.

but tommy and his sister grew fast, very fast. you see, there were so many good things to eat. their mother dug for them the most delicious roots, tearing them from the ground with her great claws. it wasn’t long before they had learned to find them for themselves and to dig them where the earth was soft enough. then there were berries, raspberries and blackberries and blueberries, all they wanted, to be had for the gathering. and by way of variety there were occasional fish.

tommy as a boy was very fond of fishing. as a bear he was quite as fond of it. on his first fishing-trip he got a wetting, a spanking, and no fish. it happened this way: mother bear had led them one moonlight night to a brook they never had visited before. up the brook she led them until they reached a place where it was broad and shallow, the water gurgling and rippling over the stones and singing merrily. they were left in the brush on the edge of the brook where they could see and were warned to keep still and watch. then mother bear stationed herself at a point where the water was just a wee bit deeper than elsewhere and ran a wee bit faster, for it had cut a little channel there. for a long time she sat motionless, a big black spot in the moonlight, which might have been a stump to eyes which had not seen her go there.

tommy wondered what it all meant. for a long time, at least it was a long time to tommy, nothing happened. the brook gurgled and sang and mother bear sat as still as the very rocks. tommy began to get impatient. he was bubbling over with high spirits and sitting still was hard, very hard.

little by little he stole nearer to the water until he was on very edge right behind mother bear. then he caught a splash down the brook. he looked in that direction but could see nothing. then there was another splash. he saw a silvery line and then made out a moving form. there was something alive coming up the brook. he edged over a little farther to see better. there it was, coming nearer and nearer. though he didn’t know it then, it was a big trout working its way up the brook to the spring-holes higher up where the water was deep and cold.

in the shallowest places the fish was sometimes half out of water. it was making straight for the little channel where mother bear sat. nearer it came. suddenly mother bear moved. like lightning one of her big paws struck down and under, scooping the trout out and sending it flying towards the shore.

alas for tommy! he was directly in the way. the fish hit him full in the face, fell back in the water, wriggled and jumped frantically—and was gone. tommy was so startled that he gave a frightened little whimper. and then a big black paw descended and sent him rolling over and over in the water. squalling lustily, wet, frightened and miserable, tommy scrambled to his feet and bolted for the shore where he hid in the brush.

“i didn’t mean to!” he kept whimpering as he watched mother bear return to her fishing. presently another trout came along and was sent flying up on the shore. then tommy watched his obedient sister enjoy a feast while he got not so much as a taste.

after that they often went fishing on moonlight nights. tommy had learned his lesson and knew that fish were the reward of patience, and it was not long before he was permitted to fish for himself.

sometimes they went frogging along the marshy shores of a little pond. this was even more fun than fishing. it was great sport to locate a big frog by the sound of his deep bass voice and then softly steal up and cut a “chugarum” short, right in the middle. then when he had eaten his fill, it was just as much fun to keep on hunting them just to see them plunge with long frightened leaps into the water. it tickled tommy immensely, and he would hunt them by the hour just for this.

one day mother bear led them to an old dead tree half rotted away at the bottom. while they sat and looked on in round-eyed wonder, she tore at the rotten wood with her great claws. almost at once the air about her was full of insects humming angrily. tommy drew nearer. a sharp pain on the end of his nose made him jump and squeal. another shooting pain in one ear brought another squeal and he slapped at the side of his head. one of those humming insects dropped at his feet. it must be that it had had something to do with that pain.

tommy beat a retreat into the brush. but mother bear kept on clawing at the tree, growling and whining and stopping now and then to slap at the insects about her. by and by the tree fell with a crash. it partly split when it struck the ground. then mother bear put her great claws into the crack and tore the tree open, for you know she was very strong. tommy caught a whiff of something that made his mouth water. never in all his short life had he smelled anything so delicious. he forgot all about the pain in his nose and his ear and came out of his hiding-place. mother bear thrust a great paw into the tree and tore out a piece of something yellow and dripping and tossed it in tommy’s direction.

there were a lot of those insects crawling over it, but tommy didn’t mind. the smell of it told him that it must be the best thing that ever was, better than berries, or fish, or frogs, or roots. and with the first taste he knew that his nose had told the truth. it was honey! it didn’t take tommy a minute to gobble up honey, comb, bees and all. then, heedless of stings, he joined mother bear. what were a few stings compared to such delicious sweets? so he learned that hollow trees are sometimes of interest to bears. they ate and ate until tommy’s little stomach was swelled out like a little balloon. then they rolled on the ground to crush the bees clinging to their fur, after which mother bear led them to a muddy place on the shore of a little pond, and the cool mud took out the fire of the stings. later, tommy learned that not all bee-trees could be pulled down in this way, but that sometimes they must be climbed and ripped open with the claws of one paw while he held on with the other and endured the stings of the bees as best he could. but the honey was always worth all it cost to get.

next to feasting on honey tommy enjoyed most a meal of ants, particularly red ants; and this seems queer, because red ants are as sour as honey is sweet. but it was so. any kind of ants were easier to find and to get than honey. the latter he had only once in a while, but ants he had every day. he found them, thousands of them, under and in rotting old logs and in decayed old stumps. he seldom passed an old log without trying to roll it over. if he succeeded, he was almost sure to find a frightened colony of ants rushing about frantically. a few sweeps of his long tongue, a smacking of his lips and he moved on.

sometimes he found grubs of fat beetles, and these, though not so good as the ants, were always acceptable on his bill of fare. and he dearly loved to hunt wood-mice. it was almost as much fun as fishing or frogging.

so the long summer passed happily, and tommy grew so fast that presently he became aware that not even tufty the lynx willingly crossed his path. he could go and come unafraid of any of the wilderness dwellers and forgot what fear was until a never-forgotten day in the early fall.

he had followed mother bear to a certain place where late blueberries still clung to the bushes. as she reached the edge of the opening, she stopped short and lifted her nose, wrinkling the skin of it as she tested the air. tommy did the same. he had great faith in what his nose could tell him. the wind brought to him now a strange smell unlike any he had known, an unpleasant smell. somehow, he didn’t know why, it gave him a queer prickly feeling all over.

he looked at mother bear. she was staring out into the blueberry patch, and her lips were drawn back in an ugly way, showing her great teeth. tommy looked out in the berry-patch. there[111] were two strange two-legged creatures, gathering berries. they were not nearly as big as mother bear and they didn’t look dangerous. he stared at them curiously. then he turned to look at mother bear. she was stealing away so silently that not even a leaf rustled. she was afraid!

tommy followed her, taking care not to make the least sound. when they were at a safe distance, he asked what it meant. “those were men,” growled mother bear deep down in her throat, “and that was the man-smell. whenever you smell that, steal away. men are the only creatures you have to fear; but whatever you do, keep away from them. they are dangerous.”

after that, tommy continually tested the air for the dreaded man-smell. several times he caught it. once from a safe hiding-place he watched a fisherman and another time a party of campers, but he took care that they should not suspect that he was near. by late fall he was so big that he began to feel independent and to wander off by himself. almost every day he would stand up to a tree, reach as far up as he could, and dig his claws into the bark to see how tall he was.

with the falling of the beechnuts tommy found a new and delicious food and stuffed himself. these days he roamed far and wide and explored all the country for miles around. he grew fat and, as the weather grew colder, his coat grew thicker. he learned much about his neighbors and their ways, and his sense of humor led him often to give them scares just for the fun of seeing them jump and run.

with the coming of the first snow a strange desire to sleep stole over him. he found a great tree which had been torn up by the roots in some wind storm and about which smaller trees had fallen, making a great tangle. under the upturned roots of the great tree was a hollow, and into this he scraped leaves and the branches of young balsams which he broke off. thus he made a comfortable bed and with a sigh of contentment lay down to sleep.

the snow fell and drifted over his bedroom, but he knew nothing of that. the cold winds, the bitter winds, swept through the wilderness, and the trees cracked with the cold, but tommy slept on. days slipped into weeks and weeks into months and still he slept. he would not waken until gentle spring melted the snow unless—

“moo-oo!”

tommy’s eyes flew wide open. for a full minute he stared blinkeringly out over the green meadows. then with a jump he came to his feet. “my gracious, it’s getting late, and those cows are wondering what has become of me!” he exclaimed. he hurried toward the pasture, breaking into a run, for it was milking-time. but his thoughts were far away. they were in the great woods. “i’ve been a bear!” he exclaimed triumphantly, “and i know just how he lives and feels, and why he loves the great woods so. of all the creatures i’ve been since i found out about the old wishing-stone, i’d rather be buster[115] bear than any one, next to being just what i am. he has more fun than any one i know of and nothing and nobody to fear but man.”

tommy’s brow clouded for an instant. “it’s a shame,” he blurted out, “that every living thing is afraid of man! and—and i guess it’s his own fault. they needn’t ever be afraid of me. i can tell them that! that old wishing-stone has taught me a lot, and i am never going to forget how it feels to be hunted and afraid all the time.”

and tommy never has.