  “Tell me a story about a bear, A great big bear who lived in a wood And ate little children.” “O, my dear, The bears I know of were playful and good, And lived in houses or parks or a pen, And never ate children, or boys, or men. “There was one snow white, a mother bear,— With two little babies cunning and queer; Who rolled and climbed and stood on their heads, And fell over, as boys often do, I fear. They hugged their mother, and talked in their way, And kept still when they’d nothing to do or say.” “No, I mean a real bear out in the woods, Who growls and chases you, makes you run, Half scared to death,—and a little boy lost Out in the woods and the night coming on; And the terrible bear with his great fierce eyes, And no one to hear the little child’s cries! “He runs and runs,”—and then Bertie smiles, His climax reached,—“I was only in fun; The bear didn’t kill him, because, you see, There was just behind a man with a gun, ’Twas his own little boy and he saved him—there!” Bertie and the bear “O, I am so glad!” and I give him a kiss; Then silent we sit for a moment or two. “That’s a boy’s story; yours, you know, For nice little girls very well will do. But boys, you remember, grow up to be men, And can fight the bears to their very den.” AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. |
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