"By-the-by, the cub!" "Oh, no, no!" cried Gerard.
"You are right.

It is late.

We have lost time climbing trees, and tumbling off 'em, and swooning, and vomiting, and praying; and the brute is heavy to carry.

And now I think on't, we shall have papa after it next; these bears make such a coil about an odd cub.

What is this?
you are wounded! you are wounded!" "Not I." "He is wounded; miserable that I am!" "Be calm, Denys.