Summer passed, with its lessons. And thanks to Mother Black Bear, there wasn’t an animal his size in all the Deep Woods that Twinkly Eyes was afraid of, when at last the long sleep came.

Emerging in the spring from the snug den in which he and his brother had drowsed away the long months, snuggled close into their mother’s furs, he was a different Twinkly Eyes.

He was both older and wiser,—and oh, so much thinner! His voice had deepened, too.

Soon he began hunting by himself. For Mother Black Bear now had two new little roly-poly cubs. And sometimes he didn’t find much to eat.

One morning he met Tattle-tale the Jay.

Now Tattletale was not really a mean fellow: he was just mischievous. He loved to play pranks. His tattling was for the most part a warning to the smaller forest folk of the approach of their enemies, Cooper the Hawk and Bobby Lynx, and Mother Black Bear.

When any of these were out for game, he would fly from one tree-top to another just ahead of them, screaming his warning at the top of his lungs, till there wasn’t a hare or a wood mouse anywhere that did not have a chance to run to hiding.

Now, though, he was so furious with the Red Squirrels for smashing two of Mrs. Jay’s pretty eggs that he made up his mind to get even. It never once entered his head that he was the first offender. For if he hadn’t begun the quarrel by robbing Shadow Tail, of his poor little hoard of seeds, Mother Red Squirrel would never have harmed the eggs.

If he had thought, he might have called it square, instead of making a bad matter worse. But Tattletale didn’t stop to think. All he could see was his own grievance. Besides, Mrs. Jay felt so bad about the eggs that he had to promise her something that would soothe her ruffled feelings.

The very next morning, just as the first pink rays of the rising sun began glinting off the dew-wet leaves in the open places, he was flitting about after grasshoppers when he spied Twinkly Eyes, the little Black Bear, slouching along the little trail to Pollywog Pond.

“Good morning, Mr. Bear,” he chirped.

“Good morning,” rumbled the yearling cub, peering and blinking into the treetops at the flash of blue wings. Twinkly’s eyes are very poor, though his ears are so sharp and his nose sharper. He could hear the squeak of a wood mouse a long way off, and he could tell just by sniffing whether or not he would find those delicious sour-tasting ants underneath a fallen log.

“How do you find the hunting these days?” asked Tattletale politely.

“Oh, nothing extra—nothing extra at all,” grumbled Twinkly Eyes. “Haven’t had much of anything but roots and frogs so far this spring. Blueberries aren’t ripe yet, there won’t be any nuts till fall, to say nothing of green corn. And a bear of my size can’t make much of a living off of grubs and mice, of course. I do wish I could find a bee tree!”

“I don’t suppose, now,” ventured the Jay, “that you’d be interested in a nest of young squirrels?”

“Try me—just try me once!” chuckled the little bear.

“All right; see that old oak?” directed Tattletale, flying on ahead.