"Yes, we have given up the name of Strawberry Bank," exclaimed Richard Chadborn, as he settled back before the bright firelight on a sharp October evening in 1653. His brother Samuel had just returned from his clearing in Rhode Island, and was eager to know all that had happened in the years of absence.

"The townsmen petitioned the General Court of Massachusetts," Richard continued, "to change the name to Portsmouth, 'it being the river's mouth and good as any in the land'."

But the name of Strawberry Bank had caught the ears of Hannah and small Sam, who rushed to the spot begging for the story of the first berries picked there by these very men when they were boys.

Uncle Samuel pulled the two children to his knees, offering instead a true bear story.

"Now, all this happened," he explained, "to my Cynthia and John, your cousins, way down in Rhode Island. They had been to the edge of the clearing and had gathered a basket of fine blackberries for their mother.

"'Just what I want for a pasty,' she told them, 'and so well picked that I will make you a gingerbread man for dinner.'

"Their eyes shone like the berries, as their mother pulled the molasses pitcher from the shelf. But there was not a drop in it.

"'Our very last,' she reported, as she looked into the keg in the corner.

"The shine went out of their eyes until Cynthia suggested that she and John go to the neighbors and borrow some. Their mother hesitated, for the children had never been there alone, but those little things looked so disappointed that she let them go.

"Well, they got there all right, I suppose, and had the pitcher filled. They started home, probably talking about their gingerbread dolls, when little John called out eagerly, 'See the big dog, sister; he is coming right to us!'

"Cynthia knew that the creature was a bear. The sight of him so startled her that she jerked the pitcher and spilled a great spot of molasses on the ground.

"The bear was very near by that time and ran for the molasses.

"'Run, Johnny, run!' Cynthia cried, pulling him on. She stopped a moment later to pour out more molasses for the hungry bear, who was already chasing after them.

"'Run, Johnny, run!' she cried again, anxious not to lose a moment for those little short legs, and so the two kept on. When the last drop of molasses was poured out, and Cynthia had dropped the pitcher for the bear, little John stubbed his toe and fell just before the turn of the path to the cabin.

"Now it happened," explained Uncle Samuel, "that a few minutes before this accident word had reached me that two bears had been seen in the woods that morning, and I had rushed home to say that the children must not go out. Before I had finished speaking, their mother had grabbed the gun from the wall and had dashed down the path.

"I tore ahead with my musket. We made the turn as the bear was bounding away from the well-licked pitcher after the children.

"They had no gingerbread dolls that day, but later I brought them home a fine bearskin rug, on which they now sit for their bedtime stories."