Sprigg's first thought, after the hundred thoughts which the object before him had awakened, was to reassure himself that the moccasins still stood guard. He looked! Dire to relate, the red moccasins had deserted their post--abandoned their trust! Nothing--no one left him to look to now for help! Down he crouched again at the foot of the old oak tree, hiding himself in its deepest shadow, in the forlorn hope that the monster might pass by without discovering his presence. On came the huge bulk of shaggy blackness--now in the shadow of a tree, now in the belt of moonlight, slowly, steadily, trudged he along--his head bent down with the air of one who, while he walked, is absorbed in profound thought. When his deliberate pace had brought the bear to the third or fourth belt of light, Sprigg spied an object, which, for the moment, in spite of the terror he felt, caused his young heart to burn with indignation, reminding him, as it did, how he had been made a fool of, by something, or somebody, he had not fairly decided yet what or who. But the moment after, remembering the voice, which, so like his mother's, had lulled him to sleep with words of rest and peace--this feeling gave place to one of joy and trusting reassurance. Side by side with the bear, and keeping exact step with his sloomy pace, Sprigg saw his cast-off moccasins, coming quietly on, as if with the sole intent of guiding the monster directly up to the tree, in whose dark shadow he had trusted to find a hiding place. Thus leading, thus led, composedly on they came together, step for step--now the three right feet, now the three left feet--each as pat to the other's movement as were they walking arm in arm. The next broad patch of moonlight gained, brought them square abreast with the boy; and here, within easy speaking distance, they came to a dead halt--the red moccasins and the bear. CHAPTER XI. An Agreeable Disappointment. "Sing a song of moccasins, Pockets full of rye. Four and twenty black bears. Sniff! I smell a lie!" So said the bear, in a nursery, sing-song tone of voice; then fetching a quick sniff at the air, began peering about him--first this way, then that way, then another way--every way, indeed, but straight at Sprigg. "First behead the headsman, Then we'll fry the friar; Next we'll hang the hangman. Snuff! I smell a liar!" Again said the bear, still jingling out his words, and still stiffly sniffing the air. He now looked down at the earth, then up at the moon, then straight at Sprigg.