My fingers are stiff with the cold; there is only one bullet left.

I shall miss him.

While he is eating me you get down and take your gun; and live, dear friend, live to remember the man who gave his life for you!' By that time the bear was at me.

I felt his paw on my trousers.
"'Oh, Bonnie! Bonnie!' said the Duke of Wellington's nephew.

But I just took my gun and put the muzzle to the bear's ear--over he fell--dead!" Bonaparte Blenkins waited to observe what effect his story had made.
Then he took out a dirty white handkerchief and stroked his forehead, and more especially his eyes.
"It always affects me to relate that adventure," he remarked, returning the handkerchief to his pocket.