And what became of the big black twin babies? They are still performing, seem content and happy, sometimes in a circus, sometimes in a garden, sometimes in the street. They are great favorites and have never done harm to anyone. And what became of Sil Reese? Well, as said before, he still lives, is very rich and very miserable. He met the boy--the boy that was--on the street the other day and wanted to talk of old times. He told the boy he ought to write something about the old times and put him, Sil Reese, in it. He said, with that same old sounding nose and sickening smile, that he wanted the boy to be sure and put his, Sil Reese's name, in it so that he could show it to his friends. And the boy has done so. The boy? You want to know what the boy is doing? Well, in about a second he will be signing his autograph to the bottom of this story about his twin babies. V. IN SWIMMING WITH A BEAR. What made these ugly rows of scars on my left hand? Well, it might have been buckshot; only it wasn't. Besides, buckshot would be scattered about, "sort of promiscuous like," as backwoodsmen say. But these ugly little holes are all in a row, or rather in two rows. Now a wolf might have made these holes with his fine white teeth, or a bear might have done it with his dingy and ugly teeth, long ago. I must here tell you that the teeth of a bear are not nearly so fine as the teeth of a wolf. And the teeth of a lion are the ugliest of them all. They are often broken and bent; and they are always of a dim yellow color. It is from this yellow hue of the lion's teeth that we have the name of one of the most famous early flowers of May: dent de lion, tooth of the lion; dandelion. Get down your botany, now, find the Anglo-Asian name of the flower, and fix this fact on your mind before you read further. I know of three men, all old men now, who have their left hands all covered with scars. One is due to the wolf; the others owe their scars to the red mouths of black bears. You see, in the old days, out here in California, when the Sierras were full of bold young fellows hunting for gold, quite a number of them had hand-to-hand battles with bears. For when we came out here "the woods were full of 'em." Of course, the first thing a man does when he finds himself face to face with a bear that won't run and he has no gun--and that is always the time when he finds a bear--why, he runs, himself; that is, if the bear will let him. But it is generally a good deal like the old Crusader who "caught a Tartar" long ago, when on his way to capture Jerusalem, with Peter the Hermit. "Come on!" cried Peter to the helmeted and knightly old Crusader, who sat his horse with lance in rest on a hill a little in the rear. "Come on!" "I can't! I've caught a Tartar." "Well, bring him along." "He won't come." "Well, then, come without him." "He won't let me."