Mrs. Chester and I hurried back to the yard.  There was the bear, sitting calmly on his haunches, but there was no Italian.

“Now that his master is gone,” my hostess exclaimed, “I am afraid of him!  I will not go any farther!  Can you imagine anything that can be done with that beast?”

I had no immediate answer to give, and I was still very much amused at the absurdity of the situation.  Had any one ever before paid his bill in such fashion?  At this moment the stable-man approached us from one of the outbuildings.  “This is my hostler,” she said.  “Perhaps he can suggest something.”

“This is a bad go, ma’am,” said he.  “The horse was out in the pasture all night, but this morning when I went to bring him up I couldn’t make him come near the stable.  He smells that bear!  It seems to drive him crazy!”

“It’s awful!” she said.  “What are we going to do, John?  Do you think the animal will become dangerous when he misses his master?”

“Oh, there’s nothin’ dangerous about him,” answered John.  “I was sittin’ talkin’ to that Dago last night after supper, and he says his bear’s tamer than a cat.  He is so mild-tempered that he wouldn’t hurt nobody.  The Dago says he sleeps close up to him of cold nights to keep himself warm.  There ain’t no trouble about his bein’ dangerous, but you can’t bring the horse into the stable while he’s about.  If anybody was to drive into this yard without knowin’ they’d be a circus, I can tell you!  Horses can’t stand bears.”

She looked at me in dismay.  “Couldn’t he be shot and buried?” she asked.

I had my doubts on that point.  A tame bear is a valuable animal, and I could not advise her to dispose of the property of another person in that summary way.

“But he must be got away,” she said.  “We can’t have a bear here.  He must be taken away some way or other.  Isn’t there any place where he could be put until the Italian comes back?”

“That Dago’s never comin’ back,” said the boy, solemnly.  “If you’d a-seen him scoot, you’d a-knowed that he was dead skeered, and would never turn up here no more, bear or no bear.”

Mrs. Chester looked at me.  She was greatly worried, but she was also amused, and she could not help laughing.

“Isn’t this a dreadful predicament?” she said.  “What in the world am I to do?” At this moment there was an acidulated voice from the kitchen.  “Mrs. Whittaker wants to see you, Mrs. Chester,” it cried, “right away!”

“Oh, dear!” said she.  “Here is more trouble!  Mrs. Whittaker is an invalid lady who is so nervous that she could not sleep one night because she heard a man had killed a snake at the back of the barn, and what she will say when she hears that we have a bear here without a master I do not know.  I must go to her, and I do wish you could think of something that I can do;” as she said this she looked at me as if it were a natural thing for her to rely upon me.  For a moment it made me think of the star that had winked the night before.

Mrs. Chester hurried into the house, and in company with the stable-man I crossed the yard towards the bear.

“You are sure he is gentle?” said I.

“Mild as milk!” said the man.  “I was a-playin’ with him last night.  He’ll let you do anything with him!  If you box his ears, he’ll lay over flat down on his side!”

When we were within a few feet of the bear he sat upright, dangled his fore paws in front of him, and, with his head on one side, he partly opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue.  “I guess he’s beggin’ for his breakfust,” said John.

“Can’t you get him something to eat?” I asked.  “He ought to be fed, to begin with.”

The man went back to the kitchen, and I walked slowly around the bear, looking at the chain and the post, and trying to see what sort of a collar was almost hidden under his shaggy hair.  Apparently he seemed securely attached, and then ­as he was at the end of his chain ­I went up to him and gently patted one paw.  He did not object to this, and turning his head he let his tongue loll out on the other side, fixing his little black eyes upon me with much earnestness.  When the man came with the pan of scraps from the kitchen I took it from him and placed it on the ground in front of the bear.  Instantly the animal dropped to his feet and began to eat with earnest rapidity.

“I wonder how much he’d take in for one meal,” said John, “if you’d give him all he wanted?  I guess that Dago never let him have any more’n he could help.”

As the bear was licking the tin pan I stood and looked at him.  “I wonder if he would be tame with strangers?” said I.  “Do you suppose we could take him away from this post if we wanted to?”

“Oh yes,” said John.  “I wouldn’t be afraid to take him anywheres, only there isn’t any place to take him to.”  He then stepped quite close to the bear.  “Hey, horsey!” said he.  “Hey, old horsey!  Good old horsey!”

“Is that his name?” I asked.

“That’s what the Dago called him,” said John.  “Hey, horsey!  Good horsey!” And he stooped and unfastened the chain from the post.

I imagined that the Italian had called the bear “Orso,” perhaps with some diminutive, but I did not care to discuss this.  I was very much interested to see what the man was going to do.  With the end of the chain in his hand, John now stepped in front of the bear and said, “Come along, horsey!” and, to my surprise, the bear began to shamble after him as quietly as if he had been following his old master.  “See!” cried John.  “He’ll go anywheres I choose to take him!” and he began to lead him about the yard.

As he approached the kitchen there came a fearful scream from the open window.

“Take him away!  Take him away!” I heard, in the shrillest accents.

“They’re dreadfully skeered,” said John, as he led the bear back; “but he wouldn’t hurt nobody!  It would be a good thing, though, to put his muzzle on; that’s it hangin’ over there by the shed; it’s like a halter, and straps up his jaws.  The Dago said there ain’t no need for it, but he puts it on when he’s travellin’ along the road to keep people from bein’ skeered.”

“It would be well to put it on,” said I.  “I wonder if we can get him into it?”

“I guess he’d let you do anything you’d a mind to,” replied John, as he again fastened the chain to the post.

I took down the muzzle and approached the bear.  He did not growl, but stood perfectly still and looked at me.  I put the muzzle over his head, and, holding myself in readiness to elude a sudden snap, I strapped up his jaws.  The creature made no snap ­he gazed at me with mild resignation.

“As far as he goes,” said John, “he’s all right; but as far as everything else goes ­especially horses ­they’re all wrong.  He’s got to be got rid of some way.”

I had nothing more to say to John, and I went into the house.  I met Mrs. Chester in the hall.

“I have had a bad time up-stairs,” she said.  “Mrs. Whittaker declares that she will not stay an hour in a house where there is a bear without a master; but as she has a terrible sciatica and cannot travel, I do not know what she is going to do.  Her trained nurse, I believe, is now putting on her bonnet to depart.”

As she spoke, the joyful anticipation of a few days at the Holly Sprig Inn began to fade away.  I did not blame the bear as the present cause of my disappointment.  He had done all he could for me.  It was his wretched master who had done the mischief by running away and leaving him.  But no matter what had happened, I saw my duty plainly before me.  I had not been encouraged to stay, but it is possible that I might have done so without encouragement, but now I saw that I must go.  The Fates, who, as I had hoped, had compelled my stay, now compelled my departure.

“Do not give yourself another thought upon the subject,” I said.  “I will settle the whole matter, and nobody need be frightened or disturbed.  The Cheltenham Hotel is only a few miles farther on, and I shall have to walk there anyway.  I will start immediately and take the bear with me.  I am sure that he will allow me to lead him wherever I please.  I have tried him, and I find that he is a great deal gentler than most children.”

She exclaimed, in horror:  “You must not think of it!  He might spring upon you and tear you to pieces!”

“Oh, he will not do that,” I answered.  “He is not that sort of a bear ­and, besides, he is securely muzzled.  I muzzled him myself, and he did not mind it in the least.  Oh, you need not be afraid of the bear; he has had his breakfast and he is in perfect good-humor with the world.  It will not take me long to reach the hotel, and I shall enjoy the walk, and when I get there I will be sure to find some shed or out-house where the beast can be shut up until it can be decided what to do with him.  I can leave him there and have him legally advertised, and then ­if nothing else can be done ­he can be shot.  I shall be very glad to have his skin; it will be worth enough to cover his bill here, and the damages to my bicycle.  I shall send for that as soon as I reach the hotel.  I can go to Waterton by train and take it with me.  I can have it made all right in Waterton.  So now, you see, I have settled everything satisfactorily.”

She looked at me earnestly, and, although there was a certain solicitude in her gaze, I could also see there signs of great relief.  “But isn’t there some other way of getting that bear to the hotel?” she said.  “It will be dreadful for you to have to walk there and lead him.”

“It’s the only way to do it,” I answered.  “You could not hitch a bear behind a wagon ­the horse would run away and jerk his head off.  The only way to take a bear about the country is to lead him, and I do not mind it in the least.  As I have got to go without my bicycle I would like to have some sort of company.  Anyway, the bear must go, and as I am on the road to the Cheltenham I shall be very glad to take him along with me.”

“I think you are wonderfully brave,” she said, “and very good.  If I can persuade myself it will be perfectly safe for you, it will certainly be a great relief to me.”

I was now engaged in a piece of self-sacrifice, and I felt that I must do it thoroughly and promptly.  “I will go and get my valise,” I said, “for I ought to start immediately.”

“Oh, I will send that!” she exclaimed.

“No,” I answered; “it does not weigh anything, and I can sling it over my shoulder.  By-the-way,” I said, turning as I was about to leave the room, “I have forgotten something.”  I put my hand into my pocket; it would not do to forget that I was, after all, only a departing guest.

“No, no,” she replied, quickly, “I am your debtor.  When you find out how much damage you have suffered, and what is to be done with the bear, all that can be settled.  You can write to me, but I will have nothing to do with it now.”

With my valise over my shoulder I returned to the hall to take leave of my hostess.  Now she seemed somewhat contrite.  Fate and she had conquered, I was going away, and she was sorry for me.

“I think it is wonderfully good of you to do all this,” she said.  “I wish I could do something for you.”

I would have been glad to suggest that she might ask me to come again, and it would also have pleased me to say that I did not believe that her husband, if he could express his opinion, would commend her apparent inhospitality to his successor.  But I made no such remarks, and offered my hand, which she cordially clasped as if I were an old friend and were going away to settle in the Himalayas.

I went into the yard to get Orso.  He was lying down when I approached him, but I think he knew from my general appearance that I was prepared to take the road, and he rose to his feet as much as to say, “I am ready.”  I unfastened the chain from the post, and, with the best of wishes for good-luck from John, who now seemed to be very well satisfied with me, I walked around the side of the house, the bear following as submissively as if he had been used to my leadership all his life.

I did not see the boy nor the lemon-faced woman, and I was glad of it.  I believe they would have cast evil eyes upon me, and there is no knowing what that bear might have done in consequence.

Mrs. Chester was standing in the door as I reached the road.  “Good-bye!” she cried, “and good fortune go with you!” I raised my hat, and gave Orso a little jerk with the chain.