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Uncle Wiggily Longears sat in the burrow, or house under the ground, where he and Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, lived with the Littletail family of rabbits since the hollow-stump bungalow had burned. "Oh, dear!" sounded a grunting, woofing sort of voice over near one window. "Oh, dear!" squealed another voice from under the table. "Well, well!
After this every night I'm going to always build a waxed-paper house," said Uncle Wiggily. So he listened to the rain drops, and he thought how nice it was not to be wet, and he went to sleep again. And pretty soon he woke up once more, for he heard another noise. This time it was a sniffing, snooping, woofing sort of a noise, and Uncle Wiggily knew that it wasn't the rain.
About this time a glimmer of the truth began to work in upon Thad's brain. He realized in the first place that no ordinary bear of the wild woods would act in this remarkable fashion. No doubt, had it ventured into the camp at all, it would have come on all four legs, "woofing" its displeasure that human beings had disturbed the loneliness of its haunts.
The other came on woofing and snorting with rage. It was the one Mr. Damon had slightly wounded. "Come on!" yelled the young inventor, for his friend was in front of the beast, and in range with the rifle. "Jump to one side, Mr. Damon." Mr. Damon tried, but his foot slipped, and there was no need for jumping. He fell and rolled over.
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