Audubon Republican

Kind-hearted Bear.

Lifts a Child in Its Paws and Puts Her in Place of Safety.

Miss Isabel F. Hapgood translates for St. Nicholas a true story from the Russian of Vera P. Zhelikhovsky. It is an incident that occurred in 1847, in the Trans-Caucasian German colony of Elizabeththal, about 30 miles from Tiflis. A picnic party discovered a large bear (called "Mikhail Ivan'itch" and "General Toptygin" in Russian) on a narrow ledge of rock high up in a gorge. This is what followed:

All at once a simultaneous cry of pity, terror, horror, broke from all.

From behind the crag a little girl made her appearance. The tiny colonist was seven or eight years old; not more. She was strolling along with her arms crossed carelessly on her pink apron. A large hat of coarse straw, such as all colonists, whether young or old, wear in hot weather, had fallen quite over on the nape of her neck; and surrounded by this aureole, all flooded with sunlight, the poor little thing stepped out on the path which skirted the cliff to the brink of the abyss.

The poor child was going to her death in plain sight of many men and women—and to what a dreadful death! And not one of them could help her! No one could either save her or warn her of her danger.

All were condemned to gaze, inactive at the dreadful event which was on the point of happening before their eyes. The women raised a cry and fell to weeping. The majority of them sobbed themselves into hysterics beforehand. The men, even those who had been in battle more than once, who had beheld death and blood, said afterward that they became cold and dizzy, and many turned away their eyes in anguish. But those who endured the ordeal, on the other hand, beheld a marvel.

Because of the turn in the path the child could not see the terrible fellow traveler who was coming to meet her. She only caught sight of that dark-brown shaggy mass at the moment when it almost came in contact with her.

The huge beast completely blocked her road. His left paws stood on the very edge of the path, while with his right side he almost rubbed the cliff. They caught sight of each other almost at the same moment.

Probably a cry or an exclamation on the part of the child revealed her presence to the beast, as he was walking along with his muzzle and his eyes drooped earthward. They stared fixedly at each other. The little girl was petrified with fear: the bear halted, in indecision, no doubt much astonished, if not frightened. For one moment, probably, he reflected: "What am I to do now?" It was impossible to pass without crushing the unexpected obstacle, without striking it or hurling it into the abyss. The path was so narrow at this point that he could not even turn round on all fours. What was to be done?

Down below the people waited with bated breath, expecting at any moment to see the unhappy child pushed into the abyss. But evidently that was not the way in which full-fed and therefore good-natured "Mikhail Ivan'itch, General Toptygin" had settled that problem. He wished neither death nor harm to this tiny creature, helpless before him, with open mouth and staring eyes, having lost through fear all power of crying, and awaiting his will in trembling silence. And "Mishenka" carried out his will.

With a faint growl, caused not by anger, but by the necessity of putting himself to trouble, he reared up on his hind legs, strode up close to the little girl, and, bracing his back against the cliff, clasped his forepaws around her, just beneath the shoulders.

Shrieks and groans of despair resounded from below. The ladies who still continued to gaze with dim eyes grew faint; but the men, especially the huntsmen, who were acquainted with the murderous habits of the bear family, leaped in spirit and with a hope—a mad hope—for the child's safety.

They perceived that Mishka was behaving in a very remarkable manner, with all the caution and dexterity that he could command.

They were not mistaken as to his unprecedented goodness. The kind-hearted bear lifted the little girl up, carefully bore her over the precipice, and, turning on the pivot of his hind paws, set her down on the other side of the path.

Having performed this gymnastic exercise the bear, without waiting to be thanked (evidently he was well acquainted with the human race), whirled about, dropped on all fours, and proceeded quietly on his way, swaying from side to side, grunting contentedly in anticipation of sweet repose in his lair not far away.