"Wal--it's the State o' Maine name for rum an' molasses mixed, an' you take it with you in case you git sick. There was some other men with me, an' they'd gone off in a boat on the lake. I had a gun, but 'pon my word I didn't think o' usin' it, 'count of gratitude to that b'ar for givin' me such a treat--just as good as a circus. Wal, I must tell how it happened. I didn't feel well that day--had a kind o' pain, an' I was lyin' on the bank in the sun, foolin' an' wishin' I was all right. By an' by, thinks I, I'll go to the camp an' hev a drink o' black-strap. I was mos' thar, when I met a wicked thief b'ar comin' out. Powers around, he was as tipsy as a tinker. He'd bin at my black-strap, an' I wish you could 'a' seen him. He didn't know where he was at, or where he wanted to be at, an' he was jolly, an' friendly, an' see-sawed roun' me, an' rolled an' swaggered till I tho't I'd die laughin'. My pain went like las' year's snow, an' I walked after that b'ar till he was out o' sight. Just like a drunken man he was, makin' for home, an' in the midst of all his foolery havin' an idea of where he'd oughter go. I'd 'a' given a good deal to see Mrs. B'ar's face when he arrove. An' didn't those other fellers give it to me for not shootin' him! I said I couldn't take a mean advantage of his sitooation."