The rest of that summer and all through the six months of night the king left his icy cavern only to fish or catch seals for food. He felt no shame at his feathery covering, but it was still strange to him, and he avoided meeting any of his brother bears. During this period of retirement he thought much of the men who had harmed him, and remembered the way they had made the great “bang!” And he decided it was best to keep away from such fierce creatures. Thus he added to his store of wisdom. When the moon fell away from the sky and the sun came to make the icebergs glitter with the gorgeous tintings of the rainbow, two of the polar bears arrived at the king’s cavern to ask his advice about the hunting season. But when they saw his great body covered with feathers instead of hair they began to laugh, and one said: “Our mighty king has become a bird! Who ever before heard of a feathered polar bear?” Then the king gave way to wrath. He advanced upon them with deep growls and stately tread and with one blow of his monstrous paw stretched the mocker lifeless at his feet. The other ran away to his fellows and carried the news of the king’s strange appearance. The result was a meeting of all the polar bears upon a broad field of ice, where they talked gravely of the remarkable change that had come upon their monarch. “He is, in reality, no longer a bear,” said one; “nor can he justly be called a bird. But he is half bird and half bear, and so unfitted to remain our king.” “Then who shall take his place?” asked another. “He who can fight the bird-bear and overcome him,” answered an aged member of the group. “Only the strongest is fit to rule our race.” There was silence for a time, but at length a great bear moved to the front and said: “I will fight him; I—Woof—the strongest of our race! And I will be King of the Polar Bears.” The others nodded assent, and dispatched a messenger to the king to say he must fight the great Woof and master him or resign his sovereignty. “For a bear with feathers,” added the messenger, “is no bear at all, and the king we obey must resemble the rest of us.” “I wear feathers because it pleases me,” growled the king. “Am I not a great magician? But I will fight, nevertheless, and if Woof masters me he shall be king in my stead.” Then he visited his friends, the gulls, who were even then feasting upon the dead bear, and told them of the coming battle. “I shall conquer,” he said, proudly. “Yet my people are in the right, for only a hairy one like themselves can hope to command their obedience.” The queen gull said: “I met an eagle yesterday, which had made its escape from a big city of men. And the eagle told me he had seen a monstrous polar bear skin thrown over the back of a carriage that rolled along the street. That skin must have been yours, oh king, and if you wish I will sent an hundred of my gulls to the city to bring it back to you.”