He heard a slight rustling among the bushes, and, sitting
perfectly still, he saw a black bear emerge into the open. It
had gained the islet in some manner, probably floundering through
the black mire, and the thought occurred to him that it was the
mate of the one he had slain, drawn perhaps by instinct on the
trail of a lost comrade. He could have shot the bear as he
sat-and he would need fresh supplies of food soon-but he did not
have the heart to do it.

The bear sniffed a little at the wind, which was blowing the
human odor away from him, and sat back on his haunches. Henry
did not believe that the animal had seen him or was yet aware of
his presence, although he might suspect. There was something
humorous and also pathetic in the visitor, who cocked his head on
one side and looked about him. He made a distinct appeal to
Henry, who sat absolutely still, so still that the little bear
could not be sure at first that he was a human being. A minute
passed, and the red eye of the bear rested upon the boy. Henry
felt pleasant and sociable, but he knew that he could retain
friendly relations only by remaining quiet.

If I have eaten your comrade, my friend," he said to himself, "it
is only because of hard necessity." The bear, little, comic, and
yet with that touch of pathos about him, cocked his head a little
further over on one side, and as a silver shaft of moonlight fell
upon him Henry could see one red eye gleaming. It was a singular
fact, but the boy, alone in the wilderness, and the loser of his
comrades, felt for the moment a sense of comradeship with the
bear, which was also alone, and doubtless the loser of a comrade,
also. He uttered a soft growling sound like the satisfied purr