THE BEAR STORY.
It seemed a long month to Max and Thekla, but at last it was over. The
31st of January came. Grandfather was tucked up early in bed, the fire
was poked, the tin can brought out, and all made ready. The children
sat in expectation. At last there came a rap at the door.
“Walk in,” cried Max; and February entered. He was a short, thick-set
fellow, with red eyes, a red nose, and a gruff, surly voice. Very
unhappy he looked just now; and when Max pulled up a chair for him, he
sat down on the edge, and began,--
“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,”--
“Hallo!” cried Max, interrupting him. “That’ll never do in the world.
That’s a horrid beginning: you must try again.”
[Illustration: “The brothers and sister believed every word of it; but
Mamma put her tongue in her cheek, and gently pointed over her left
shoulder with her paw.”]
“Oh, must I?” said February, much relieved. “I thought I had to take
pains with my language. People who ‘address the young’ usually do.
Well, if I may go ahead in my own way it’s all right: you’ve taken a
weight off my mind.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Max; “but before you begin, where’s the
gift?”
“Here,” said February; and he pulled from his pocket something that
looked like a big icicle. It _was_ an icicle, only it didn’t melt in
your fingers or feel cold; and it had a delicious taste, like buckwheat
cakes, maple molasses, sausages, baked apples, turkey, cranberry sauce,
and nuts and raisins, all at once. Max broke it in two, and while
Thekla sucked one half and he the other, February began:--
“It’s only about the bears in the North-West Hollow.”
“Bears!” cried Max: “what bears?”
“A real nice family of bears who live up there. Last year when I saw
them, they were little fellows about the size of kittens; but they are
quite big now, and have got grown-up growls. I thought perhaps you’d
like to hear about ’em.”
Oh, wouldn’t they? Both children crept close to him, and drank in every
word with red cheeks and round eyes.
“Bears!” cried Max, quite stuttering with excitement. “I didn’t know
there were any in the Forest. Oh, do go on!”
“They used to lie all curled up in a heap,” continued February, “at
the bottom of a nest in the rocks, which their mother had lined with
leaves and moss to keep them warm. They looked just like funny bundles
of brown hair. There were four of them,--Snap, Snooze, Roll-about,
and Greedy. Roll-about was the fattest and the best-natured, but they
were all nice. They lay tangled together, and couldn’t help pulling
each other’s fur a good deal; but they quarrelled much less than most
brothers and sisters who live in such close quarters.
“I went away before they were old enough to go out, so I couldn’t
tell you much about them if it were not for April. April and I,” said
February, with a sentimental air, “were always great friends. She used
to see the Mamma Bear and her little ones go walking together. One day
when they were in the wood a barking of dogs and blowing of horns was
heard.
“‘Run! run!’ cried Mamma; and off they went,--all but Greedy who had
straggled away in pursuit of a honey-tree. He was too young to know how
to take care of himself, and getting confused ran into the very track
of the hunters. They would have killed him, but one shouted, ‘Take him
alive! take him alive! I want him;’ so instead they put him into a sack
and carried him away.
“Nothing more was heard of him for a long time. The others were sorry,
but they went prowling about all summer stuffing themselves with
good things, and did very well without him. By October they were as
fat as pigs. And all of a sudden one day, as they were lunching on
ground-nuts in a lonely place among the hills, as happy and friendly
as could be, they heard a scratching of claws, and smelt a fur which
seemed uncommonly familiar; and lo and behold! it was Greedy, back
again, as big as any of them, but not nearly so fat.
“Of course they growled with astonishment, and flew to meet him. He
was glad too, but his manner seemed a little cold. Where had he been?
Oh! he had been in a town of Germany getting his education. And where
had he been living? Oh! in the family of his tutor of course. Slept
in the same room with the children, and treated like a child. None of
them knew what a tutor might be; and Roll-about asked innocently if
it was something good to eat, but Greedy shook his head. The town was
a college town, he said. All persons of refinement were sent there to
study.
“‘Are you a person of refinement, Greedy?’ asked little Snooze.
“Greedy froze him with a look. He didn’t answer, but went on with his
tale. He had learned to dance. He could pick out the Ace of Hearts, and
A, B, and Z from the alphabet. He could jump over a stick. This last he
did on the spot, to show them how it went; and, in the middle of the
jump, Snap noticed something which made him cry out, ‘O Greedy! your
poor paws! What is the matter with them? They’re all brown, and dried
up?’
“Greedy looked foolish. ‘Oh!’ he replied, ‘that’s nothing:
they--they--got a little burnt one day,--that’s all,--on some hot iron.
Stoves are very hot in Germany.’
“Mamma looked queer when she heard this, and relieved her feelings by a
low growl. The little ones could not tell what to make of it.
“When asked how he managed to get back, Greedy explained it in this
way: ‘He was travelling,’ he said, ‘with some friends. They were in a
cage together, which was the fashionable way of going about just now.
By an accident, the cage upset and some of the bars broke; and, as it
was so near home, Greedy thought he might as well run over, and make
them a visit.’ All this he said with a lofty air, and the brothers
and sister believed every word of it; but Mamma put her tongue in her
cheek, and gently pointed over her left shoulder with her paw.
“They had a grand walk home; but no sooner had they got there, than
Greedy began to find fault with every thing in the most unpleasant
manner. The Hollow was the dampest hole he ever had seen. No place was
fit to live in without a stove. As for the food, it was horrid. It gave
him the stomach-ache, he declared; and he called for beef-steaks, as if
he expected a butcher to appear round the corner. When the honeycomb
was brought in, he fell upon it tooth and nail, and ate a great deal
more than his share. Mamma reproved him; but he snubbed her, and said
that was the way all the children did in the city; and when poor little
Roll-about, who had to go without any, gave a low whine or two just to
comfort herself, he boxed her ears with his paw savagely, and then
excused himself by telling them that Master Jack, his tutor’s son,
often cuffed his sister, Miss Gretchen, in that way, and nobody took
any notice. It wasn’t any particular consolation to Roll-about to hear
of it, and she crept away into a lonely corner, and moaned and licked
her paws for a long time.
“Master Jack and Miss Gretchen,”--how the Bear family did learn to
hate those children! Every rude and disagreeable thing Greedy did, he
quoted them as examples. Jack, it seemed, said, ‘I won’t,’ and fought
for his dinner; and Gretchen scratched and bit right and left; and they
quarrelled with each other. Their evil example had ruined all that
was good in poor Greedy. He said the most unpleasant things. He found
fault with every thing. He pitched into the others on all occasions,
and boxed Roll-about’s ears till the hair grew quite thin. Then he
advised her to use ‘bears’ grease.’ ‘All the city young ladies did so,’
he said; but what good was that, when the poor little thing could get
none but her own,--or his, which, as you may suppose, he wasn’t very
likely to offer her!
“‘Oh,’ Mrs. Bear used to say to herself, ‘if I only had Master Jack
and Miss Gretchen here, wouldn’t I give them a lesson?’ And as Greedy,
for all his fault-finding, had such a big appetite, that provisions
were growing scarce, two or three bad children, needing to be eaten by
way of example, _would_ have been convenient. Every thing went wrong
in the once happy home. The brothers and sisters were always sulking
in corners, and complaining to each other in low growls of the way
in which Greedy had treated them. Roll-about lost her plump sides,
and grew thin. Snap was finding out the advantages of bad temper, and
beginning to carry on like Greedy. At last Mrs. Bear declared she would
stand it no longer.
“‘You are grown up,’ she said: ‘go out and shift for yourself. As long
as you were good and content, I was glad to have you here: now you
only make my life miserable, and I can’t endure it.’ And she raised her
large paw, and showed her teeth, for the first time in her life; and
Greedy, with a snarl of fright, slunk away from the den.
“Out of her sight, however, his temper revived. He got into a great
huff. ‘Leave the den?’ Of course he would, and very glad to see the
last of it. So he went and chose a hole for himself to live in. It was
quite close to the village,--a great deal too close for safety. But the
silly creature had lost all his instinct by living with human beings.
And whenever the bells rang or any thing seemed to be going on, he
would rush out to peep, and find what it was. I only wonder they didn’t
catch him long ago.”
“Did they catch him, then?” asked Max.
“You shall hear. Only yesterday it was that a caravan with a band of
music came into the village. Greedy heard the sounds, and it seemed as
if he would go wild. He dodged among the bushes, and looked on as long
as he could stand it, and then, seized with a desire to distinguish
himself, out he came. The circus people couldn’t believe their eyes
when they saw him prancing after them, his head on one side, and taking
steps like a dancing-master. Of course such a prize was not to be
resisted. They lost no time; and, when I caught sight of them, poor
Greedy had already a muzzle on his jaws and a rope round his neck. A
boy was banging his sides with a stick, his tail was between his legs,
and I must say,” ended February, laughing heartily, “he didn’t look
particularly happy at being taken back into fashionable life after this
manner.”
“That’s first-rate,” cried Max, in fits of amusement.
“I’m so glad you liked it,” replied February, much pleased. “Now I’ll
trouble you for my thumb-nail and left ear-tip.”
The can was brought, and Max carefully measured out what was wanted.
February kissed Thekla’s hand (the tip of his nose felt _very_ cold),
made a clumsy bow to both, and went away.
The children hugged each other. “If they’re all like that,” cried they,
“how jolly it will be!”
[Illustration: GREEDY.]