[Illustration]
“Children,” said Mother, one morning, “I want you to take a basket of
eggs to Mrs. Brown at Rose Cottage, with my love.”
Tom and Effie were quite willing, for they were very fond of Mrs. Brown.
The walk there was lovely—the skies were blue and the birds were singing
their sweetest songs.
At last they reached the garden gate. “Oh,” cried little Effie, who was
carrying the basket of eggs, “just look, Tom! There’s a Billy goat in
the garden! Let us go and make friends with him.”
“So we will,” said Tom.
They had a goat at home and so were not in the least afraid.
But Billy looked very fierce as the children drew near, as much as to
say, “Who are you?”
Then he made a sudden rush at them. Effie in her fright, nearly flew
towards the gate, dropping her eggs on the way. Poor Tom, however, did
not escape so easily. The goat butted him into the air and soon the poor
little fellow lay sprawling on the ground.
Mrs. Brown, hearing their cries, quickly came to their help, and soothed
away their fears.
“How dare you be so rude, naughty Billy?” she said to the goat.
And Billy looked quite ashamed of himself, as well he might.
Since that day, he has learnt better manners, and now he is very pleased
to see the little pair when they come to pay a visit to Rose Cottage.
[Illustration: The Story of the Three Bears]
Once upon a time there were three bears. They lived in a cottage by the
wood.
First you saw a little green gate opening on to a garden path with a
box-border on either side. Behind the box-border were all sorts of sweet
flowers—pinks, gilly-flowers, and pansies, boy’s-love, rosemary, and
sweet lavender. Behind the flowers grew gooseberry and currant-bushes,
and behind the currant bushes cabbages, carrots and onions for dinner.
The straight path led to the cottage door all covered with roses and
honeysuckle. Such pink roses and such sweet honeysuckle, just the sort
the bees love best, for bears like honey, and the bee-hives were behind.
The door stood open to let in the air and the sunshine, and because doors
were made, in those days, to let people in, and not keep them out.
[Illustration]
Inside was the nicest, cleanest kitchen you ever saw, with a table in the
middle, as white as soap and scrubbing could make it. Against the wall
stood a tall dresser covered with bright pewter plates, hanging cups and
jugs, and all things such as bears might use. A pepper-pot, you may be
sure, and a tureen with string and odd things in it.
The three chairs just suited, for there was a great, huge arm-chair for
Mr. Bear, who was big and heavy; a middling-sized chair for Mrs. Bear,
who was middling-sized; and a small, wee chair for little Master Bear,
who was small and wee.
The fireplace, with its open chimney (it had a green frill on a string
under the mantle-shelf) was the cosiest in all the land, as Mr. Bear very
well knew when he smoked his pipe there on a winter night.
In one corner of the kitchen was a door that opened on to the stairs, and
up the stairs they went to bed every night. The bedroom had three beds
in it that any one might like to see. A great, huge one for Mr. Bear, a
middling-sized one for Mrs. Bear, and a small, wee one for little Master
Bear. All was sweet and airy, and the window looked out into the garden,
and the roses looked in at the window, and the wind whispered in the
trees outside.
[Illustration]
Now it happened one summer morning that Mrs. Bear got up earlier than
usual to make the porridge for breakfast, and it happened, too, that
when she put it out to cool in three willow-pattern bowls on the table
(a great, huge bowl for Mr. Bear, who was so big; a middling-sized bowl
for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee bowl for little
Master Bear, who was small and wee) that she went to the foot of the
stairs, and called aloud to Mr. Bear: “Make haste down, and we will go
for a walk in the wood while the porridge is cooling.”
“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear, in his great rough voice; and then
down he came, with little Master Bear scrambling down behind him.
Now when great, huge Mr. Bear came down the stairs, you can be sure that
he caused every board in the cottage to creak, and the thud of each tread
was so very heavy that all the cups on the dresser shook. That tells you
how huge and big he was.
Mrs. Bear heard him coming and took her bonnet from its peg, and when
the strings were tied beneath her chin, and Mr. Bear had taken his thorn
stick from the corner, and little Master Bear had found his butterfly
net, they all set off in the wood for a walk, clicking the gate behind
them.
Such a lovely June morning for an early walk. The birds sang, the breeze
fluttered Mrs. Bear’s skirts and Master Bear’s butterfly net, and the dew
was on the grass and hung all shimmering in the cobwebs.
As to the wood, it was cool and shady, and the three bears were soon out
of sight.
[Illustration]
Then there came to the gate a little girl named Silverhair. She was hot
and tired, and said to herself: “Here is a sweet cottage; perhaps the
good woman who lives here will give me some milk and a rest. I’ll knock
at the door and see.”
So up the straight path she walked, with the box-border on either side.
“Rat-a-tat,” she knocked.
But nobody said “come in.”
“Rat-a-tat-a-tat” once more, but nobody said “come in.”
[Illustration]
Then again louder than before, but all was still. So, being very hungry,
and not so shy as she ought to have been before such a sweet, open door,
in she peeped, and then in she went, and the very next minute she was
tasting Mr. Bear’s porridge. But it was too hot, and she let the spoon
fall with a clatter on the table. Then she tried Mrs. Bear’s porridge,
but that was too cold, and then she went to little Master Bear’s
porridge, and that was so nice, neither too hot nor too cold, that she
ate it all up till she could see the blue pattern at the bottom of the
bowl quite plain.
That was sad, for it was not her porridge! Little Silverhair was quite
naughty now!
[Illustration]
After her breakfast she felt how tired she was, so she sat down in Mr.
Bear’s arm-chair, but that was too hard. Then she sat down in Mrs. Bear’s
chair, but that was too soft; she thought it quite stuffy for so warm
a morning, and she was now hard to please, for Mrs. Bear’s chair was
covered with pretty white chintz with rose-buds on it, and what more
could she want?
But she was very naughty now! She sat down quite roughly in little Master
Bear’s chair, and sat the bottom out, and was not dismayed! No, up she
jumped, and looked about till she saw the door in the corner. Then she
tripped upstairs, and threw herself down on Mr. Bear’s bed. But that was
too hard. Then on Mrs. Bear’s bed, but that was too soft. And last of all
she tried little Master Bear’s little wee bed, and that was neither too
hard nor too soft, but just right.
[Illustration]
In two minutes she was fast asleep, with the breeze from the window
blowing on her soft silver hair.
Now between conversation and butterflies the three Bears had let the time
pass, till suddenly Mrs. Bear saw by the shadows of the trees on the
grass that the porridge must be cool.
“We must turn, and walk faster home,” she said.
“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear in his great, huge voice. But the
birds in the wood did not flutter, for they knew quite well what a kind
heart he had, and how he kept crumbs on his window-sill.
When they got to the gate that they had clicked behind them, it was open,
and Mr. Bear hurried on to see who had come. He hurried on till, when
Mrs. Bear and the little one came in, he was standing before his porridge
bowl with a sad face, and his spectacles pushed on his forehead.
“Someone has been at my porridge,” he said, very loud indeed.
[Illustration]
Poor Mrs. Bear! She looked at her own bowl, threw up her hands, and
said in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary me, someone has been at my
porridge!”
Then little Master Bear tossed his butterfly net into the corner and ran
to the table, but though he tipped up his bowl till the pattern was plain
to see on the bottom, not so much as one drop of milk could he get from
out of it, and he cried in his shrill little voice, “Someone has been at
my porridge, and has eaten it all up!”
Then there was great uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Bear, and he turned to
his chair and saw how it was pulled from the wall in a very unusual way.
“Someone has been sitting in my chair,” he said.
Mrs. Bear turned to hers, and saw that the cushions were all in disorder.
“Oh, deary me!” she said, “someone has been sitting in my chair.”
[Illustration]
Then Master Bear, leaving his empty bowl, hustled up to see; and now it
was “Oh, deary me,” and no mistake, for when he saw his little chair all
broken and spoiled he cried out at the top of his wee voice, “Someone has
been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom out!”
No time was to be lost in such sad straits, and Mr. Bear had his foot on
the stairs before Mrs. Bear had so much as decided how the little chair
could be mended. She felt sorely puzzled, but, picking up her gown in
front, she followed Mr. Bear up the stairs, while little Master Bear
clambered, heavy-hearted, up behind her, holding on very tight to the
back breadth of her skirt, for who could tell what would happen next!
[Illustration]
Once in the room, they all went to the big bedstead that had been made so
strong for Mr. Bear by the village carpenter, who knew how to please his
customers.
When they saw the clothes so tumbled, it was no wonder that Mr. Bear
should thunder out, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed!”
Poor Mrs. Bear! she turned round to look at her own white bed, with its
pretty dimity curtains, and she called out in her middling-sized way,
“Oh, deary, deary, deary me, someone has been sleeping on my bed!” Her
feelings and the counterpane were sadly ruffled.
Master Bear then left go of her gown, and crept away to his own little
corner.
[Illustration]
And what did he find? Fast asleep, with her hand tucked under her cheek,
and her hair all tossed about on the pillow, lay little Silverhair,
dreaming of porridge and broken chairs. How pleased the wee Bear was! He
piped out in his small, wee voice, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed,
and here she is fast asleep!”
But the last word sounded so loud in Silverhair’s ear, that it woke her
with a start, and before the three Bears could tell what to do next, she
had jumped out of bed and then out through the window, brushing the dew
off the roses as she went; and those three Bears never, never, never saw
her any more.
[Illustration]