IN WHICH LITTLE BLACK BEAR SPENDS A NIGHT IN THE FOREST
Now when the White-White Horse disappeared through the dusk with the
Pretty Lady and Little Black Bear on his back, his feet seemed suddenly
shod with wings. Indeed, he traveled so very swiftly that, in telling of
it afterward, Little Black Bear was never quite certain that they had
not actually skimmed through the air. But—as he always added in
conclusion—whether they did or did not made no very great difference.
The important point was that even the wind could not have moved faster,
so that, in most no time at all, the three of them found themselves at
the edge of a very black, and very deep, and very great forest.
“What a wonderful place!” cried Little Black Bear. “Do let us go on into
the depths of it!”
“No,” answered the Lady, as she brought the White-White Horse to a halt.
“At least I may not go, for I have much else to do. But it is here that
you are to alight and set out in quest of your story.”
“Oh, that will be fine,” said Little Black Bear, as he prepared to climb
to the ground. And then, hesitating for a moment, he added, “But how am
I to get back to the menagerie tent?”
“Trust me for that,” the Lady replied, “for in due time I shall come to
you again and then the three of us will once more return to
Spangleland.”
And as her wiggley-nosed passenger scrambled down, the golden-haired one
bade him a merry farewell and was gone.
For a moment Little Black Bear stood looking after the fleeting forms
and then, turning his face toward the forest and tucking his lunch bag
more securely under one arm, he waddled into the deepening gloom as
quickly as his rather short legs would carry him.
“Why, it must be here that the circus gets all its poles,” he exclaimed,
as he looked about at the tremendously tall trees. “Goodness, the number
of them! And the size! There’s one that’s every bit as big around as
Hippo; and another that’s even larger than Elephant.” He recalled what
the crow in the messenger’s cap had said about a million trillion
clouds. “Yes,” he said, wagging his head rather wisely, “there must
easily be that many trees.”
So, talking to himself as he went, and picking his way around the ends
of gray, gnarled logs, Little Black Bear trudged deeper and deeper into
the forest. As he advanced the gloom changed to night, and, though the
traveler’s eyes were very bright and quite used to the dark, he finally
decided to find a resting place until morning.
Now, Little Black Bear had never spent a night in the woods but was, on
the contrary, accustomed to snuggling close in the straw on the floor of
a splendid red and gold cage. Still, he had often heard his elders tell
of the great wide world and he knew that hollow trees were supposed to
make ideal lodging places. So he immediately set about to find one. He
had not far to look, for very soon he came to a tree of unusual size and
there, in its base, was a most inviting black hole. Going up to it, he
found that the hole opened into a round room in the trunk. The floor of
the room was packed close with leaves that crackled under foot as their
visitor stepped over them.
“Why, I shall be most comfortable here,” cried Little Black Bear, “I had
no idea one could find such houses as this away in the depths of the
forest.”
In fact the discovery so delighted him that he began to sing the
merriest kind of a tune and, noting that the walls of the tree caused
his voice to seem much deeper than it really was, he sang the song all
over again. Next—because he loved to hear the leaves crinkle and
crunch—he broke into a jig and ended by rolling over and over on the
floor. But in doing this he all but crushed the paper bag which held his
lunch and that caused him to remember that perhaps he should dine before
going to bed. So, getting up, he went out into the open and sat down
with his back to the tree. Here he undid the bag and rummaged inside
with his paw. He was very much tempted to eat the taffy-on-the-stick but
finally decided on an apple. Munching upon this, he sat peering into the
night.
Here and there winged little spots of light glowed for a moment and then
were snuffed out again. They made Little Black Bear think of spangles.
They were about that size. He thought they might be the fireflies of
which he had heard. But, aside from the twinkle-dots, all was gloom
broken only by immense columns that were even blacker than the night
itself. And these Little Black Bear knew were the trunks of the great
trees that stood near his own. How big everything was. How cool and
sweet the air. How he wished all the other animals were with him. What a
story he would have to tell!
From away in the distance came a faint “hoot, hoot, hoot.” Out of nearby
trees dropped odd little sounds as though something were hopping about
on the branches. But by now he had disposed of his apple and so
carefully closing the paper bag, he rose to his feet and returned to the
room in the tree.
“Gracious,” he said, “why, it must be late as anything. I was never up
this long before in all my life. What a lark I am having—”
“I say, hush up, whoever you may be down below,” suddenly broke forth a
voice from somewhere outside and over his head. “First you rouse a body
with your singing, and now you insist upon talking to yourself.”
“Oh, please excuse me,” answered Little Black Bear, feeling very much
ashamed. “I really didn’t mean to disturb any one.”
“Well, it’s all right this time, only kindly don’t do it again.” Then,
after a pause, “Will you be with us long?”
“Well—er—that is—I really don’t know.”
“Family?” inquired the voice.
“Oh, no!” Little Black Bear hastened to reply, “I am quite alone. But
who are you, if I may ask?”
“Hey, there!” came an entirely new voice, this time from very high
overhead, “how long are you two going to keep folks awake with that
chattering!”
But neither Little Black Bear nor the one to whom he had been talking
answered so much as a word. Instead, silence now fell as deep as the
night that surrounded the tree. Little Black Bear hardly dared move for
fear the leaves might crackle and then, after a time—for he had already
become drowsy—he gradually forgot the strange voices that had come from
above, and slipped away into Slumberland.
Now whether it was this sound that awakened him, Little Black Bear had
no way of knowing, but, however that may have been the very first thing
that came to him when he again opened his eyes was the rhythm and ring
of an echoing hammer. He knew it was a hammer, for he had sometimes seen
the men of the circus at work on the cages. Indeed, as he lay there on
the warm bed of leaves, he could almost see the nails slowly sink into
place.
“Surely, now, some one must be building a house in the forest,” he said,
as he scrambled to his feet and went to the door of the tree. “Yes, and
it must be somewhere up the side of that slope.”
For, now that day had come, Little Black Bear could see that the tree in
which he had spent the night stood at the foot of what looked to be a
mountain—a mountain that was covered with trees quite as big as those
that grew at its base. So closely did these stand and so dense were
their boughs that it was only here and there that a bit of the sun found
its way through the leaves. Because of this, Little Black Bear was
reminded of the soft gray twilight-time that always brought Diggeldy Dan
to the menagerie tent.
There were birds of many kinds in many, many trees twittering and
teetering as if discussing their plans for the day. Their voices caused
Little Black Bear to remember the mysterious ones of the night. But he
soon dismissed them from mind, and turning his thoughts to peanuts and
carrots, sat down with the lunch bag between his knees and devoured a
most appetizing breakfast. Once more he was about to eat the
taffy-on-the-stick, but again decided to wait until later. As he
finished his last peanut, the pounding of the hammer sounded again and
then, a moment later, came the rising and falling “gr-r-r-rrr” of a saw.
“I have just got to find out what all that is about,” decided Little
Black Bear, as he folded his lunch bag. “Who knows? It may prove the
best kind of an adventure.”
And so, guided by the song of the saw, he started up the side of the
mountain. As he advanced the trees grew less dense and this made more
light. Long, dazzling beams that seemed to split into thousands of
glistening splinters came from the foliaged canopy that spread far
above. Great rocks began to appear. The grass grew more green. The
hammering was very near now. And then, reaching the edge of what proved
to be a broad clearing, Little Black Bear came in sight of a scene that
caused him to halt in amazement.
Spread out before him was a sort of niche in the mountain with a floor
as wide as the menagerie tent, fully as smooth and almost as long. At
the back of the niche and framed by jaggedy rocks were two wooden doors
made of small trunks of trees bound tightly together with bolts and with
bars. Both these doors were closed as if shutting the mouth of a cave.
But it was what occupied the center of the clearing that held the
fascinated attention of Little Black Bear. Here was a wide-spreading
tree and under its shade an enormously long work-bench surrounded by
whole drifts of curlycue shavings. The bench was fitted with a vise with
wide wooden jaws, while its face was covered with many strange tools.
Just in front of the bench and half in the sunlight were two massive
sawhorses that supported an oddly shaped frame. And, bending over these,
a cap on his head and a carpenter’s apron tied round his waist was a
shaggy coated bruin of marvelous size.
Now, of course, Little Black Bear took in the entire scene in a whole
lot less time than it has taken to tell of it. Indeed, by now he had
softly lifted himself to the top of a rock that he might obtain a still
better view. Then, just as he had done so, and without the least sign of
warning, the rock rolled away with a crash, and the next moment he lay
sprawling in the clearing not a half-dozen steps from the bear in the
cap and the apron!