not therefore forget to fondle him tenderly, to stroke his back with her soft hand, and to tickle him behind his ears; but the sullen brute paid little attention to her caresses. “I scent human flesh,” growled the devourer. “Beloved bear,” said the lady, “you are mistaken—what would bring a human being to this desolate spot?” “I scent human flesh,” he repeated, prying round the silken bed. The knight did not feel very comfortable, and, in spite of his courage, a cold perspiration broke out upon his forehead. The perplexing position in which Wulfield found herself endued her with firmness and courage. “Friend bear,” said she, “you begin to be too tiresome—away from my couch, or fear my anger!” The uncouth bear cared little for this threat, and did not cease to bustle about the bed hangings; yet, however much of a bear, he still was henpecked, for as soon as he intended to force his large head under the bedstead, Wulfield took courage and gave him so effectual a kick in the side, that he crept humbly to his couch, squatted in the corner, sucked his paws, and licked his young ones. Soon afterwards he fell asleep, and snored as a bear only can snore. As soon as good Wulfield perceived it she refreshed her brother with a cup of sack and biscuits, and exhorted
