“What was that?” asked Squeaky in a shaky voice. “It sounded like a growl,” said Snythergen, and his trembling was so violent it shook the house. Thereafter no more sleep was possible for either, but the sound did not return. When morning came they investigated and found bear tracks leading to the door. “What shall we do?” asked Snythergen. As usual the finch was perched on a branch listening, standing so close to Snythergen’s ear that his wing rubbed against it. “Who’s tickling my ear?” said Snythergen, looking around. But the finch had hidden behind a leaf. “What do bears want?” asked Squeaky. “To make trouble, I guess,” said Snythergen. During the building of the house Snythergen had been so busy he had not even noticed Squeaky’s little friend. Now the finch wished to join in the conversation, for his teacher had just given him permission to speak out loud. He wanted to celebrate his first spoken words by saying them at the top of his voice, so pushing his little bill into Snythergen’s ear, he screamed: “Bears don’t want to make trouble, they want food!” Snythergen jumped as if a bee had stung him. “What was that!” cried he, looking around and seeing nothing. For again the finch had hopped behind a leaf. “It’s my good friend, the goldfinch,” said Squeaky. “I want you to meet him. I have been teaching him to talk, and you heard the first words he has spoken out loud. Don’t you think he did them rather well?” he asked, proud of his pupil. “If loudness is an indication I should say he did, most decidedly,” said Snythergen, whose ears were still ringing. “If he keeps on improving they can hear him in the next county!” “Come,” said Squeaky, looking around for the finch, “I want you to meet him.” At Squeaky’s request, the finch came out of his hiding place and was presented. “If it isn’t the little goldfinch!” exclaimed Snythergen in surprise, and he burst out laughing. “What are you laughing at?” asked the finch suspiciously. “I was just thinking how difficult it seems to be for some birds to find their way back to their nests,” said Snythergen. At this the sensitive bird flushed a brighter gold and hung his bill dejectedly. “I suppose trees look a good deal alike,” continued Snythergen mockingly, “and that is why it is so hard to find the one your nest is in!” Too confused to answer, the finch made up his mind to question Squeaky when they were alone, and at the first opportunity told the pig of his adventure with the strange tree. When Squeaky explained that Snythergen had a costume of bark, branches and leaves, the little bird understood how the “tree” had been able to hide from him, and why he had been unable to get any trace of his nest. Though he felt indignant about the way he had been treated, he decided for the present to say nothing and bide his time. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER VII BEAR ON ICE