It was late autumn, almost winter, and the hunter needed a fur coat nearly as much as the bear needed a last good meal before settling down to his snow-bound sleep.
The hunter trudged off into the October-emptied forest and, as the darkness gathered among the trees, rounded a jagged outcrop of mountain-rock to find himself face to face with the bear. As he clapped his rifle-butt to his shoulder, he was paralysed with astonishment when the bear spoke to him. You will understand that, though all this happened long ago, even then it was most unusual for bears to speak. So one cannot blame the hunter for his hesitation.
"Look", said the bear, "surely we can settle this matter in a friendly manner? There is always room for compromise". While the hunter, not a very bright man, was considering this extraordinary proposition, the bear struck him a heavy blow under the left ear and he fell down dead.
The bear then proceeded to eat the hunter, and a totally satisfactory compromise was thereby reached. The bear had his meal and the hunter had his fur coat."
Compromise, Christopher Wilson
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