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It was Robert who found the bears. There was a cave mouth mostly concealed by leaves and brush, and he burrowed through the camouflage, went into the interior of the earth, and came back in a little while, saying, Come and look! There used to be a little stream of water in there, but it’s dried up now. There’s a dead bear sow lying beside it, with one of her dead cubs. The other cub looks like he’s still alive.

They all went into the cave to investigate. It was much cooler in there, which was a relief, but the cave’s stream of water was nothing but drying mud. There was a stink from the bodies of the dead sow and the cub. The other cub was unable to move, and his eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. He was scrawny and pitiful and his black fur was matted and grungy.

Ma, I’m doubtful that he would be much of a birthday present, Hrolf observed.

We’ll have to take care of him one way or the other, as long as he’s still alive, she said. First we have to figure out how to get him home.

They tried nudging the cub into a walking or crawling posture, but the cub could not keep himself righted. If they could get him out of here at all, the first thing they’d have to do would be get him to that little trickle of a spring and get him to drink as much water as he could.

Hrolf’s mother took charge. Dewey, she said, would you mind lying down on top of the bear sow and rolling around?

For heaven’s sake,
why?
Dewey wanted to know.

So you’ll get her scent on your own body. So the cub won’t be so afraid of you.

With a look of disgust, Dewey lay atop the dead sow and squirmed around, getting her scent onto his own hide.

Now, Hrolf’s mother said, let’s see if we can’t get the cub up onto Dewey’s back. Lie down, Dewey, and when we’ve got the cub on your back, stand up, but don’t bump the cub on the ceiling of the cave.

They all cooperated in tugging and pushing the cub into position along Dewey’s spine, with the cub’s paws on either flank.

When Dewey stood up, he yelped, Yeoww! He’s sinking his claws into me!

Good, Hrolf’s mother said. He’s trying to hold on. Let’s get out of here.

Hrolf and Hroberta walked on either side of Dewey to make sure the cub wouldn’t topple off, and thus they made their way slowly back to the cliff side where the tiny trickle of springwater had been found. There, Dewey knelt and they gentled the cub off of Dewey’s back and led him to the spring. But he would not drink.

Maybe he was still nursing, Hrolf observed. Maybe he hasn’t learned how to drink.

No, Hrolf’s mother said, he’s too old to be nursing. He’s probably weaned. Let’s hope so. Our next step, if we can get him to drink, is to find something for him to eat.

Hrolf’s mother crept to the spring and lapped up a mouthful of water and put her mouth to the cub’s mouth and spewed or sprayed the water into the cub’s mouth. The cub shook his head in rejection of the dog-smelling water. But Hrolf’s mother kept at it, and finally got the cub to swallow some water. Then she put her paw on the cub’s head and forced his head down to the spring’s trickle, and the cub got the idea and began to lap at the water.

When the cub had drunk all the water he could hold, they each slowly took a drink, and then they got the cub up onto Dewey’s back again and headed out in the direction of home.

Ralgrub, Hrolf’s mother said, what would your cousin like to eat, do you think?

Mast, Ralgrub said.

Come again?

Mast. Acorns and nuts.

Eww! said the dogs.

Okay, gang, let’s round up some mast.

The drought had cut back the trees’ production of fruit, and few of the nuts had yet fallen this early in the fall, but both Ralgrub and Robert were able to climb some trees and knock down a few acorns and nuts. The hickory nuts were hard to crack, but the pecans cracked easily enough in a dog’s powerful jaws, and Hrolf’s mother directed them to masticate enough nut meat to make a mess that might appeal to the cub despite its scent of canine saliva. As it had at the spring, several attempts were required before they could get the cub to eat the masticated nutmeats. And in the process all of them grew powerfully hungry themselves. Ralgrub could eat some of the mast herself, but for the others there was only the carrion of drought-slain animals, which, if they could find a freshly deceased bird or rodent, sufficed. Lucky Dewey could survive on twigs and brush and what little grass had survived the drought.

The food and drink restored the cub’s spirits to the point where he could put up resistance to being abducted. He began to growl in his whiney little voice, and more than once attempted to escape from Dewey’s back, but the vigilant expedition crew kept him in place. Before they reached home they had to stop again to gather mast, masticate it (Hrolf wondered if
mast
got its name from being masticated), and feed the cub, although no further water was found for any of them. After the second time they fed the cub, instead of resuming his perch on Dewey’s back for the continued journey home, he snarled and climbed a tree. The dogs impulsively barked at him, their instincts being to bark at anything which is treed, and that didn’t help. Ralgrub and Robert had to go up after him, and perhaps Ralgrub knew enough of bear language to assure the cub that they were all his friends and had no intention of eating him, and besides, didn’t he want the comfort of Dewey’s back, which smelled like his mother? Somehow Ralgrub and Robert got him to come back down out of the tree and resume his perch on Dewey.

As they neared home, Hrolf conferred with his lieutenants about how they would keep the cub until it was time to present it to Mistress on her birthday. They didn’t know just when her birthday was, and the exact date didn’t matter, but they did have to decide on a day, and maybe they should wait a few days to give the cub time to fatten up and regain some of his health and strength. While Ralgrub had the manual dexterity to tie a red ribbon around the cub’s neck when it came time to make the presentation, she could not tie a rope around the cub’s neck to restrain him until the birthday. They needed some place to keep him until the presentation.

Hrolf’s mother suggested using the abandoned beaver lodge, a brilliant idea. They coaxed the cub into it, left him with a small but adequate supply of mast, and closed the opening to the lodge with sticks and brush. Ralgrub attempted to have a chat with the cub before they left it, to tell the cub they’d soon be back and would soon be delivering the cub as an offering to a goddess, a beautiful human girl whose twelfth birthday would be greatly enhanced by the cub’s presence. Whether the cub understood any of Ralgrub’s words was doubtful, but he promptly curled himself up and fell asleep in his new temporary home.

The beaver lodge was just outside the haunt of the
in-habit
, and as soon as they stepped across the line on their way home, the
in-habit
met them, or at least his voice did.
Well, howdy, did you’uns find any water anywheres?

No, but we found a bear cub, Hrolf told him. We’re keeping him in the beaver lodge.

Won’t be ary bit of use, lessen you find some water.

They all sighed. Hrolf was tempted to say to the
in-habit
, You’re lucky you don’t have to drink anyhow. But that would be catty, and he was a noble dog. Instead he asked, How’s Mistress?

She aint a-bleedin no more,
the
in-habit
said.
She’s just fine, aside from being real thirsty, but she’s been missin you’uns something terrible.

They all went home to kiss and lick and be hugged by Mistress. Although she said she was just fine, she was obviously suffering from lack of water. So were they all. There was a nearly tangible or smellable pall in the air, a sense of impending doom. Hrolf decided that if they were all going to perish from the drought, as all those creatures in the forest had perished, he would be noble to the end, and with his last breath he would be guarding the bodies of his mother, Mistress, and the others. Or, come to think of it, probably Dewey and Sheba would be the last ones alive. Sheba didn’t seem to need any water, or at least she could go for a long time without drinking, and Dewey seemed to be able to get the moisture he needed out of bushes and leaves. Hrolf didn’t like the idea of being survived by others, and he would try his best to stay alive. The bear cub was an inspiration to him. If the cub had somehow survived after his mother and his sister died, Hrolf could do likewise.

Knowing that bears are mostly nocturnal, Hrolf went back at night to the beaver lodge to sit outside the closed opening and try to teach his noble language to the cub, so he could tell the cub of the kinship he felt for it as well as the encouragement he’d received from the cub’s example in surviving the passing of his family. But the only dogtalk the cub was interested in learning were swear words, coarse exclamations that sounded like he was trying to say Shoot far! and Up yours! and Your mother! Hrolf shook his head and decided, This is one cantankerous bear.

Hrolf’s mother decided which day would be Mistress’ birthday, possibly in consultation with Mistress herself and that device they used which was called a Ouija Board. Nothing else was planned for the birthday. The supply of flour Robin had ground from her wheat was insufficient for making a birthday cake. Ralgrub went into the storeroom while Mistress wasn’t looking and filched a red ribbon. Ralgrub had already told the cub how handsome he would look with a red ribbon tied around his neck, and all the other promises and expectations that she and Hrolf had bombarded the cub with appeared to be the reasons the cub was willing to leave the beaver lodge readily and walk the distance to the homestead with his canine and feline escorts. Adam joined them when they stopped so that Ralgrub with her dexterous fingers could attempt to tie the red ribbon around the cub’s neck.
That sure is a mighty fine bar,
Adam complimented Hrolf.
Let’s just hope he aint too rambunctious.

Hrolf could see Mistress waiting for them. She was standing on the porch of her house, with Sheba wrapped around her neck and bare chest. She was shading her eyes from the sun and squinting but the squinting wasn’t because of the sun; it was because her eyes were going bad. As they approached across the meadow and into the yard of the house, they were finally close enough for her to recognize them, although she couldn’t recognize the beribboned bear cub they had in tow. Her squinting eyes finally lit up in recognition of the new animal, but then her face darkened, as if a cloud had passed over it. Indeed, Hrolf looked up at the sky and saw the clouds, and then he heard the rumble, and then the boom. Hrolf was the only one of them all, except possibly the
in-habit
, who was not frightened by the sound of the thunder. The rain began before they reached the porch, so they ran joyfully the last of the way. Shoot far! Hrolf yelled. Water! They all reached the porch, and the cub was very reluctant to climb the porch steps into human company, but the downpour began and prompted him into the porch’s shelter.

Happy birthday, gal!
the
in-habit
spoke for them all, although they were each trying in noble dog language to say the same thing. “Hrolf! Hrolf! Hrolf!” he shouted blissfully, joining his voice to the chorus all around them. He didn’t know which made him happier, the downpour ending the drought, or his accomplishment of his mother’s decree to obtain for Mistress a bear cub for her birthday.

Mistress was beside herself with joy. She held her arms up to the heavens to feel the rain and she splashed it onto her face as it fell and happily drank it. Then she dropped to her knees and attempted to hug the cub, who would have none of it, who said Piss off! and shied away from her.

“Oh, Paddington!” she cried.

Chapter thirty-seven

I
had distinctly mixed feelings about that bear cub. While I agreed with the others that the acquisition of a twelfth birthday present for Robin was almost as wonderful as the coming of the rain (which went on and on until the well filled and the spring ran and the beaver pond brought its builders home), I had many reservations about bringing such an obstreperous beast into the menagerie. During the time Adam had lived there, that is, the same number of years Robin had now been alive, he had never seen a bear. I had seen their plantigrade tracks here and there, but I could only imagine, from stories my grandfather told me about them, what they looked like. I had heard plenty of these, such as the tale about the bear hunter who always shot his bear just enough to irritate and not cripple it and then ran for home with the mad bear hot on his heels and waited until they’d reached the cabin before shooting the bear dead; that way, he didn’t have to worry about lugging home a five-hundred pound carcass. I had plenty of respect for and fear of the largest of all local wild creatures, but I had never encountered one. Now the beast that Robin unwisely chose to call by the same name she’d called her little stuffed animal (and she’d told me all about
that
Paddington) was very young and very cute (“adorable” was her word for his deceptively mild and cuddly appearance) and bore no resemblance to the fearsome hulking monster I’d imagined, but would in time come to lose his cuteness, and become a thoroughly ferocious, virile and lumbering fellow. I was, quite frankly, jealous of what he would become.

In my present maturity I’ve learned a few things apart from the appearance and behavior of adult bears: the name Paddington was cribbed from a mythical (and adorable) bear in the stories of Michael Bond, who gave the animal that name because he happened to live near Paddington Railway Station in London. And, unlike the other creatures in Robin’s menagerie,
this
Paddington should not have been made into a pet, because wild bears, being solitary creatures who don’t do mutual grooming of one another, don’t understand the idea of petting. Thus, for a long time Paddington resisted Robin’s efforts to take him to bed with her. She did not know that his assorted screeches and snarls were obscene and hostile in dogtalk, but she was hurt that he refused to snuggle up with her in bed or even on the davenport. And I, at twelve, was at a loss to explain anything to her or to help her.