Hi-Bub's sadness at our impending departure was sharply interrupted the next week. Some new business came to hand that left him no time to dwell on prospective loneliness. In fact, the entire community was suddenly stimulated with new life.

We were made a present of a live, snorting, five-hundred-pound black bear!

Bears are not novel in our forest. We have lots of them, and not infrequently we catch glimpses of one along our lake shore or on the trails. We have no complaint against them. In fact, the forest would lose something very precious if they were gone. They do not attack human beings. Normally they mind their own business and are so shy we count it a great experience when we see one.

The trouble with our gift bear was—he wasn't normal. He had been around human beings so much he had lost all fear of them. We heard of him first through a letter from a game farm where he had been raised. Old Charley, as they had named the bear, had been brought there when he was a cub. There he grew up, fed and cared for by human hands. He was a good bear, the letter said, though it was admitted that he had a "fiendish sense of humor." He liked nothing better than to frighten a new employee of the farm until he nearly jumped out of his shoes. While a keeper was washing out his cage, Old Charley bit the rubber hose in two and water squirted all over the man. Once he took the keeper's hat and sat on it, and refused to give it up until hours later. He enjoyed stealing his keeper's broom. In spite of his great size he wanted to play whenever anyone came near him. Seldom did anyone go into his cage without getting knocked down at least twice before leaving. Yet Old Charley was not cross. After each one of these stunts he would go over into a corner, and sit making a noise something like an outboard motor—which probably came from laughter down inside.

The problem was that Old Charley had outgrown his accommodations at the game farm. It was high time he was liberated in the forest. They asked permission to place him in the Sanctuary, where he would be safe from hunters. There the old bear could get accustomed to a wilder existence. In a few weeks he would enter hibernation. By spring, the letter stated, he would have forgotten his domestic training and would be a normal bear.

Well, Old Charley arrived one October day. He was transported in a truck on which had been built a strong cage. He was taken back over a little fire lane that winds through the woods toward the more remote area of our Sanctuary.

Giny, Hi-Bub and I went along to see the bear released. There was no question as to the joy of the great creature as the door of his cage was opened, and he jumped down on the forest floor. There was a noticeable sparkle in his eyes as he stood for a moment contemplating his surroundings. Here was the world as he remembered it in his earlier days. He sensed that he was at liberty. The trees fascinated him. He raced up to a large white pine and embraced it as if it were a long-lost friend. Then, snorting and puffing delightedly, he ran from one tree to another giving each the same affectionate greeting.

He seemed inclined to share his hugs with us when he discovered us in a little huddle a short distance away. He ran in our direction, but when he arrived at the spot we weren't there any more ! I never saw people run faster. Hi-Bub's legs were simply a blur at the speed he went, though he was laughing and having the best of fun. "Come on, Tham Cammel," he called. I needed no urging. Neither did Giny, nor the men who had driven the truck from the game farm. Yet Old Charley didn't mean any harm. He hadn't the slightest intention of hurting anyone. He was happy and he wanted to play. But it is very difficult for a bear his size, with two-inch claws, to be gentle. We had no wish to have him wrap his arms about us and lick our faces, even if it were only an expression of love. We raced to the truck and soon were packed like sardines in the all-too-small cab.

Old Charley paid no more attention to us. He had had his fun. If we were sissies and didn't want to play, he still had plenty to amuse him. He boxed with bushes, rolled in tall grass, snorted and sniffed at everything, and finally disappeared on the run over a little hilltop.

"Oh boy, oh boy-that wuth the mothteth fun I ever had," declared the delighted Hi-Bub.

We went back to our cabin on the island. An adventure had begun. Nothing like Old Charley had ever been known in that country before. He took to the wilds handily, but he never forgot what he had learned about men. We tried to keep him near the point where he had been liberated. There we established a feeding station for him, and kept a good supply of his favorite foods at hand. For several days he held to the region. We hid behind trees and watched him as he came up for his dinner.

Old Charley soon began pushing his horizons back. This was too interesting a world for him to be contented with one small part of it. Within a week he disappeared and was gone for two days.

Then a story reached us of a huge bear that had been seen several miles to the south of us along a forest road. In fact, one man driving an automobile had got a very good look at him. Seeing the fine-looking bear in the brush at the side of the road, the man had stopped his car. The bear promptly came right up to him "wearing a smirk on his face and puffing like an outboard motor," the man said. The windows of the car were hurriedly closed and the driver sat there watching the fearless animal. To his amazement the bear tried to get in the car. He pawed at the doors and windows, he climbed up on the hood, and then got up on top. Naturally those great bear claws left numerous autographs in the paint. Once on the roof the bear seemed contented and sat down. The driver was virtually a prisoner in his own car, and not a very contented one either. The man didn't know what to do. He could hear the bear as he moved about scratching himself.

Finally the great creature stretched out as if he intended to take a nap. Of course, the driver could have started up the car and run out from under the bear, but he had no wish to hurt the animal. Anyway, he had no assurance that as the bear fell off he wouldn't take half of the car with him. Presently he remembered some apples that were in the rear seat. He lowered a window slightly and dropped several of these on the ground. The bear promptly scrambled down, leaving more deep scratches in the paint and a dent in the hood as he went. The creature picked up an apple and began to down it in huge bites, while the driver scraped about an inch of rubber off his rear tires making a fast start down the highway.

"That must have been Old Charley," said Giny when the story was told us.

Hi-Bub giggled.

Old Charley showed up at his feeding station again and remained for several days. Then he disappeared. Soon another story reached us. This time it involved a cabin five miles to the north. The owners of the place had gone to town for supplies. A few rings of summer sausage had been left hanging on the back porch. When they returned the sausage was gone—and so was most of the porch. It was evident from large tracks in the sand that a bear had been there. Apparently he had caught the odor of that summer sausage. The scent of seasoned meat is just a cordial invitation to a bear to come on in and help himself. This bruin visitor had done just that. Getting into the porch was simple enough, for the screen door swung inward and no doubt gave way easily to his powerful paws. Getting the sausage was easy too, and from the grease spots on the floor it was clear that he had eaten the lunch right there. Then came the problem of getting out. The door had slammed behind him. It needed to be pulled open, and a bear knows nothing about pulling—only pushing. This creature must have pushed amazingly hard, for the door had gone outward whether the hinges were built that way or not and with it went the entire frame and a section of the railing.

"It wuth Old Charley!" guessed Hi-Bub when this tale was told us.

Five miles southeast of us lived some people who had carved a little garden space out of the forest. Here they raised vegetables and some choice flowers. The only way they could protect their produce was to circle the plot of ground with an electric fence. This worked fairly well through the summer. Now that the autumn season was on, they were keeping the fence in operation until they could retrieve some very precious bulbs that were still in the ground. One evening they were startled to see a good-sized bear standing near the fence. They tapped on the window at him, but he showed not the least alarm and went about sniffing and investigating. They held their breath as the animal edged toward the electric fence. Their hearts all but stopped as he turned his nose away and began backing up toward the thing. Presently his short tail made the contact, and one hundred and twenty volts went racing all around under his black hide. Of all the indignities to heap on the king of the forest! The animal seemed paralyzed at first. Then he gave a snort and a leap that broke the contact. As if super-charged, he raced into the woods, breaking down bushes and small saplings as he went.

The people were doubled up with laughter, but their merriment suddenly ceased when they saw the bear coming back out of the forest. He wasn't running now, but was advancing with strides that reflected purpose and power. Straight to the fence he went. He sniffed at it with his nose. Again one hundred and twenty volts smote him, and he jumped back. Then with an angry growl he arose on his hind legs, front paws waving. The people looked at a spectacle of ferocity that made them vow they never would get in a boxing match with a bear. The animal struck the wire with his paw, and of course, was shocked anew. It infuriated him, and he lunged forward, breaking the fence and the electrical circuit. Free now of the mysterious power that had assailed him, the bear proceeded to tear that fence down, breaking the posts, not stopping until it was a tangled mass spread over the ground. Then extricating himself from the coils of wire, he raced into the woods.

Giny and I nodded our heads as we heard this story. "That's Charley," we said in unison.

There came the tale of the resort where the kitchen was surrounded with a screened porch. After the insect season was over, the door of this porch had been removed to make the carrying in of wood and supplies easier. A bear began to visit the place nightly and feast on scraps that were usually left in a bucket on the porch. The creature tried repeatedly to get into an icebox that stood near at hand. The cook grew afraid to go out on the porch, and something had to be done. One of the guests suggested that a big noise might frighten the animal away. Accordingly plans were made, and when the bear returned one night, all of a sudden there was the wildest pounding of dishpans and shouting! It worked perfectly. The bear was frightened until he nearly jumped out of his hide. The only trouble was that in his fear he lost memory of where the door was, and went right out through the side of the porch, taking nearly all of it with him.

That was Charley !

One day some men were doing road work a few miles to the east of the Sanctuary. They had driven to the point where the work was needed, and there at the roadside parked their car. Their metal lunch boxes were left on the car seat four of them. Road work is hard. The men shoveled and picked and chopped all through the morning hours. By noon they were ravenously hungry. Back to the car they trudged. "Man, am I anxious for that lunch today!" said one of them. "My wife baked an apple pie and I know she packed two pieces for me."

"There'll be mince pie for me," said another, "and that's my favorite."

"You can have your pie," said a third. "I'll take good old banana cake—there'll be some in my box today."

Then all four stopped talking and walking and just stared at the sight before them. Beside their automobile sat a huge bear having the time of his life. He had opened the car door and found the lunch boxes. A few scratches from his powerful paws had opened these and the tasty contents were spilled on the ground. In the midst of this picnic the bear was perched, making a noise like an outboard motor as he ate apple pie, mince pie, banana cake and sandwiches until his heart was content and his tummy too.

The men shouted, but the bear was not afraid. He had heard men shout before. They threw stones, but not very hard, for the car windows were close at hand. Helplessly the men had to stand there until their uninvited guest ate the last crumb of their lunches. Then with a snort or two of thanks, the great creature disappeared in the woods.

That was Charley !

A man and his wife came up for a quiet week end, the last of the season at their cabin in the pines by a neighboring lake. The first night was wonderful, all that they had expected it to be. But in the morning when they looked out the back door, there sat a big bear on the doorstep. He was looking in through the screen, and eying the icebox particularly. They shouted at him and stamped their feet, but he wouldn't move. They called him "pretty creature" and heaped compliments on him, but he was immune to flattery. There he sat, in perfect contentment, considering ways to get to that icebox.

At last the man of the house tossed an orange out a window. It interested the bear, and he ate it down skin and all. But he didn't go away. He returned to the back step and sat down. Another orange was tossed out. The bear ate it, and then sat down on the back step. Seven oranges were consumed this way, with the same result. Several apples followed, then three loaves of bread and a dozen sweet rolls. After eating all this, the animal apparently figured there couldn't be anything left in the icebox, and calmly walked away into the woods.

That was Charley!

Old Charley certainly got around. And wherever he went he managed to get into trouble. There was danger mixed in his adventures, though he seemed to lead a charmed life. People who live in the woods won't let a bear boss them around all the time. Upon several occasions rifles were leveled at him, and bullets fired that were meant to bring his career to a close. Some way he escaped them all, and lived on to get into more mischief.

Old Charley soon grew into an impish tradition. Like the gremlins of the air forces he was the traditional source of all trouble. When two of Giny's pies were forgotten in the oven and burned to a crisp, it was Old Charley who did it. When I was carrying an armload of wood in a rainstorm and slipped and landed in a puddle—it was Old Charley who tripped me. When Hi-Bub tipped over a bottle of ink on his mother's tablecloth he said, "I gueth it wuth Old Charley."

The community took up the tradition. The big black bear became a prankish evil spirit who practiced sorcery. His fiendish sense of humor feasted on trouble. One evening while driving I came to a truck that had slipped into the ditch. Men were laboring to get it back on the road. "How did it happen?" I asked.

"Oh, just Old Charley," said one resignedly.

It was Old Charley who washed out the bridge over Pine River, planted mice in a neighbor's garret, broke a mooring line and set a launch adrift in an open lake, set off a forest fire, and even caused our autumn storms. All of which proves that a fellow had better be right careful about getting a bad reputation in this world, for folks are just looking for someone to blame for all their troubles.

The last time we saw Charley that autumn he was again near the place where he had been liberated. Giny, Hi-Bub and I found him at the foot of a little hill, much interested in the giant roots of a pine tree that had been overturned by the wind. Charley was raking leaves into the excavation made where the roots were pulled out of the soil. He had gathered cedar bark into this spot too. While he was not beginning his hibernation, he was preparing for it. We saw him roll about in the material he had collected, and then as if practicing his entry into his vast dreamland, he reached with his front paws and pulled leaves and bark over himself until he was buried. Then he arose, shook the dirt from his fur and went into the woods.

"That's Charley, all right," I whispered. "I wish for the good of the community he would go to sleep and that right away."

"He'th a thwell bear," whispered Hi-Bub.

As the autumn advanced and the day of our departure neared, Giny and I discovered that Hi-Bub was not the only one whose thought was saddened at our leaving. For the first time in our experience we simply did not want to go. Our philosophy in the matter helped but little. We spoke of the joy we would have in meeting thousands of people and sharing with them the experiences and inspiration we had gathered in Nature. We knew the need people have for the wholesome influence of the forest, and that carrying our lectures to them was likely our best way of serving our fellow beings. Yet, when we finished all our arguments—we didn't want to go.

I strongly suspect that our state of mind was largely due to that youngster who visited us so regularly and faithfully. True, there were other factors. The unseasonable warmth continued. It was so much like springtime we felt we should be arriving instead of departing. The wilderness about us was teeming with interest and the promise of adventures. Old Charley the bear was an inexhaustible source of excitement. A host of memories and plans caught and tugged at us like the thorns of a blackberry thicket.

Still we might have dismissed all these things easily if it hadn't been for leaving Hi-Bub. That smile of his, the sweet but strong character that looked out of his blue eyes, his infectious enthusiasm, his faith, his charming lisp—how were we to get along without them?

Here is where childhood is more resourceful than maturity. We grownups are handicapped by practical knowledge and a vague thing we call reality. Hi-Bub was free of such manacles. If he was to lose temporarily his friends of the forest, he knew just where and how to get another. This we learned on his last week-end visit before our departure.

It was a haunting autumn evening in which we sat before our final campfire. The air was just cool enough that the warmth of the flames was welcome. An unbelievably yellow moon slowly and silently ascended the heavens. Stars blinked their eyes in its strong light. Crickets droned their ancient melody. The lake looked like polished black marble, and the heavens lived again in its mirrored depths. Coyotes gave their weird cries to deepen the beauty and mystery of the night. Twice we heard the voice of Meph, the great timber wolf.

"Tham Cammel," said Hi-Bub, breaking a long period of silence.

"Yes."

"Did Indianth live in theth woodth?"

"Yes, Hi-Bub, Indians lived all through this country."

"Were they right here—right where we are now?"

"I feel sure they were. They traveled through these lakes in their birch-bark canoes, and no doubt sometimes they landed on this island."

"Well--" Hi-Bub was moved with a growing excitement "well, do you thuppoth an Indian ever walked right here?" And he marched past the fire in strides that were overlong for such short legs.

"No doubt," I said, willing to agree to anything within the realm of possibility. "No doubt some great brave has walked right where you are walking now."

"Do you thuppoth he touched thith tree—here?" asked the boy, putting his hand against an ancient white pine which was now lighted by the glow of the fire.

"Well, Hi-Bub, that tree is probably one hundred and fifty years old and so it was here when Indians roamed this region. However, I think the exact spot a big brave would have touched is higher than you can reach."

"Oh-h-h-h !" exclaimed the boy, imagination aflame. "I thuppoth thith tree hath grown. Maybe the thpot he touched is way up there." He pointed to a place thirty feet from the ground.

Giny and I laughed. "No, Hi-Bub," I said, seeing a chance to teach him a nature fact. "A given point on a tree never grows higher. Trees put on new growth at the top, and they become larger around, but their sides do not creep upward. If you were to drive a nail in this tree, say four feet from the ground, twenty years from now that nail would still be at the same height. So if a great Indian brave landing here a hundred years ago touched this tree about here--" I indicated a spot on the bark about six feet up--"that same spot is there now."

With this explanation, nothing would do but that I must lift Hi-Bub until he could place his hand on the spot our hypothetical Indian might have touched. Now the delighted youngster had walked where an Indian might have walked; he had stood where an Indian might have stood; and touched a tree where one day an Indian might have placed his hand. It was wonderful.

"Tham Cammell" he said, his tones influenced by his enthusiasm. "Talk thome more-'bout Indianth."

"Well," I said as I carried him back to a seat between Giny and me, "I don't know very much about them, but I'll be glad to tell what I know. In this region lived Indians who were known as the Ojibwa. They were wise and clever people. They knew what plants in the woods to use as food. They raised maize, or Indian corn. North of here in a very large lake is an island on which they planted crops. When the first white men came to the region, they found the Indians farming that island. The Ojibwa were good hunters and fishermen, too. Can't you imagine even now their birch-bark canoes going along in the shadows near that distant shore?"

I never should have started that. Could he imagine that? He was way ahead of me. He had canoes so thick they were bumping into one another--"hunnerdth of 'em." The Indians were camped on those moonlit shores, they were gathering wild rice in the bays, they were singing, dancing, laughing about their campfire. "Don't you thuppoth there might be—just thum?" he insisted.

"No, Hi-Bub," I said laughing, "none of them is here now. It's fun though to know they were here, isn't it?"

Hi-Bub wasn't hearing me. His eyes were wide and lighted with excitement. "Did they have little boyth and girlth?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yes, surely they did."

"Did the boyth and girlth live right in theth very woodth?" he persisted.

"Yes, they played and learned Indian knowledge right in these very woods," I affirmed.

"M-m-m-m-m," went Hi-Bub, though I did not understand what was going on in his thought until later.

"Perhaps you would like to know about the grand old Indian chief who lives up here right now," I went on, while Hi-Bub looked up at me with both mouth and eyes wide open. "Well, he lives way back in that forest in the direction of the rising moon."

Then I related to the attentive youngster the story, as best I knew it, of an ancient and interesting character named John Shawano. Through the great forest to the east of us threads a road known as the Military Highway. This road follows rather accurately the very old Indian trail which connected Fort Howard (later Green Bay) on the shore of Lake Michigan with Ontonagon, Michigan, on Lake Superior. The last stands of big timber in the north country were along this roadway directly east of us. In the cathedral-like depths of that forest lived this strange character known to most people as just "Big John."

Each of the few times I had seen Big John Shawano I had been much impressed with his dignified bearing and startling appearance. He was known to be at least one hundred years old, possibly older. Yet he stood a full six feet four inches, straight as the pine trees among which he lived and just about as sturdy. His eyes were clear and steady. His bronze face showed no wrinkles, his hair was thick and dark. Few of the young woodsmen could keep pace with John on a hike through the woods. He thought nothing of swinging on his back a packsack bearing a hundred pounds of supplies and walking from town to his cabin twenty miles away.

No one ever succeeded in getting really confidential with Big John, or in drawing from him his priceless story. He was a legitimate chieftain though his tribe was long since scattered and gone. Yet he never surrendered the dignity of his office. On the wall of his small cabin hung a heavy war club. It had been carved by primitive knives from specially selected maple. A hard knot made a large knob at one end. The other end had a curved handle. Two eagle feathers were attached to the handle, a symbol that only a true chief might use. This war club had been given Big John by his father. He regarded it with pride. No one might borrow it or buy it, though some tried to do so. Few were permitted to handle it. Once he surprised me by saying, even though I fancied he scarcely knew me, "When John go on—you have him (the club). You kind to little brothers of woods. Where John go he no need war club. You have him then."

Big John believed wild animals were created for Indians. He hunted when he needed food. And yet he never harmed an animal needlessly and he wanted no one else to do so. He said, "Great Spirit give cow, pig, sheep to white man. To Indian he give deer, porcupine, fish." Game wardens of the region had a problem with Big John, for he was convinced he had a divine right to hunt whenever he needed food regardless of the laws white men made.

When I stood in the presence of Big John I always had the feeling that he came from another world. He lived in dreams, traditions, legends. His kingdom was by no means lost. In the sighing of the wind in the trees, the murmur of running streams, the rumble of thunder, the soft breaking of wavelets against a shore line, he heard the voices of his people. He said his tribe lived beyond the setting sun, and someday he would go to them.

John Shawano was very proud of his ability as a woodsman. He could move about as silently as a shadow, as swiftly as a fox. Many a party of hunters or fishermen had been startled and not a little frightened to see suddenly standing before them this tall, powerful Indian. Usually he would say not a word, but after looking at them sternly for a moment would disappear into the forest.

Big John had the spirit of the pre-white-man Indian. He kept aloof from some of the bad habits taken on by fellow red men. He held to the legends of his race, and fully believed that someday the Indians would take America back from the white men again. "Only," he said, "they be good to white man. They treat him well."

Hi-Bub listened closely as I talked of Big John Shawano. It was past his bedtime and his eyes were heavy, but his interest held. Presently he went to Giny, climbed into her lap and rested his head on her shoulder. I thought the day was done for the young man, but not so.

"Tham Cammel," he said, his voice mellowed with sleepiness.

"Yes, Hi-Bub."

"Duth a little Indian hoy live in the woodth?"

"Well, now . . ." I said hesitantly, not sure just what direction the conversation should take.

"Yeth, he duth," said Hi-Bub, blinking.

"He does?"

"Yeth, I know him."

I couldn't think what to say to that.

"He ith coming to play with me," went on the sleepy but inspired Hi-Bub.

"What is his name?" asked Giny, who is better at that sort of thing than I am.

"Little John Deer Foot," said Hi-Bub without hesitation.

"Big John and Little John-that sounds right," I put in.

"Where is Little John Deer Foot?" asked Giny.

It was apparent the conversation was about the equivalent of a bedtime story, for Hi-Bub was hovering along the border of dreamland. "He live-th in a beaverth houth," he said. His lisping was always more prominent when he was tired.

"When will you see him?" asked Giny, her cheek against his.

"Oh, he will come whenever I call him," said Hi-Bub, stirring himself for just a moment. "He will come to play with me. He ith going to keep me from being lonethome while you are gone."

There, I told you that childhood is more resourceful than adulthood. Our practical sense wouldn't let us have a 'maginary little boy to take along with us. But Hi-Bub could reach out beyond our dull senses and find a playmate who would stay with him and be satisfying. Lucky, blessed little Hi-Bub.

"And Little John Deer Foot will come to our Hi-Bub," Giny was crooning in his ear. "He will take you into the lodges of the beaver and into the woodchuck homes too. He will teach you to play on the otter's toboggan slide, and to ride on the wings of the eagle. Little John Deer Foot will teach you what the cricket is saying, the secret of sunset and dawn. He will join you in your dream, HiBub, and no one can take him from you."

Somewhere in the middle of these sentences Hi-Bub had launched out into dreams. From the peaceful expression on his chubby face, they must have been lovely ones.

Giny and I--and Hi-Bub too, though he did not know it sat by the campfire until it burned to white ashes. We must feast to our fill, for it would be many a moon before we would know such a scene again.

High overhead we heard the call of Canada geese in flight. Faintly we could see their V-shaped formation passing before the moon. They were heading south in response to a call in their hearts.

"Tomorrow we follow them," whispered Giny, for there was a call in our hearts too. And now that Hi-Bub had Little John Deer Foot, we no longer disliked going.