The next evening the children all met again, in the hope that the Good-Natured Bear would come to finish his story.
“I am so much afraid he will never come again,” said Nancy. “What shall we do?”
“What shall we do?” echoed all the children.
“For my part, I think that he will come,” said Mrs. Littlepump.
“I am sure I hope so,” said Margaret. “Dear, how my heart beats!”
“Your heart beats for Mr. Bear?” said Dr. Littlepump, looking hard at Margaret, who instantly blushed up to her eyes, and her ears were as red as ripe cherries.
“Oh, I do so wish——” said little Valentine, and then he stopped.
“What do you wish, Valentine?” asked Mr. Doctor, looking at his watch.
“Jemmy! what Jemmy?” inquired Mr. Doctor with a serious face.
“Why, Jemmy, the merry little fox with the yellow brush tail!” said Val.
At this moment the clock struck six, and without any knocking, or ringing, or any other announcement, the parlour door opened and in walked Mr. Bear!
He bowed with his usual politeness; but he had a more than usual air of gravity and some appearance of anxiety. Margaret placed his chair for him and this seemed to please him.
“I thank you, Miss Margaret,” said he, and he soon became cheerful.
Looking around with a smile, and particularly at Margaret, he asked if he might go on with his story.
“Oh, do, Sir!—please do!” cried a dozen voices at once. So he continued as follows:
“I must now tell you about my own captivity, and I fear there were several times when I did not follow my mother’s advice but really lost my temper for some minutes. I had scarcely reached my full growth when a party of hunters came to the forest where I lived and surprising me while I was asleep, caught me fast in a very strong rope net. I made a great struggle. Three of the hunters stepped a few paces back and leveled their guns with the intention of shooting me. At this moment an immense wild pig rushed out of a thicket and crying ‘ouff!’ charged right upon the three hunters—knocked them all three flat upon their backs like ninepins—and then dashed into the thicket on the opposite side! Up jumped the three hunters, very angry, and instantly fired their guns into the thicket after the wild pig. But he was out of their reach. Another of the hunters was now about to thrust his spear at me when suddenly he gave a loud cry, and flung his spear at a tree, close to the foot of which we saw a large yellow and red brush tail whisk round.
‘Oh,’ cried the hunter. ‘Some rascal of a fox has bitten me in the foot!’
I need not tell you who these two forest friends were who had thus saved my life. You have already guessed.”
“Jemmy and Hugo,” whispered the children.
“Jemmy and Hugo, grown up!” nodded Mr. Bear.
“The hunters now began to talk together about whether I might not be of more value to them alive in a menagerie than if they killed me. They spoke of my rich, bright, brown-coloured fur, my large size, my youth. At length they decided to send me to a menagerie. Some of them said that a live bear was a great trouble on a long journey.
I now saw that it was of no use to make any further struggle among so many armed men, so I became very quiet. The cords that bound me had become partially loose at the arms. The son of the hunter, who had been about to kill me with his spear, happened to come close to me. I slowly freed one paw and instead of seizing the boy roughly, I slowly raised myself to an upright position behind his back and then patted him gently upon the top of his head. This surprised, amused, and won the hearts of all the hunters. They said it was quite impossible to kill such a good-natured bear, and from that day they called me The Good-Natured Bear.
I remember very well an event of my journey with my captors, which led to my learning to dance. We were all seated in a pleasant wood at sunset. One of the men drew forth a clarionet, another a horn and began to play. For the first time in my life I heard what you call music. I was filled with joy, and, being quite unable to control myself, I rose on my hind legs of my own accord, and stepped in time to the music. At this the hunters loosened the ropes which held me and gave me more freedom. In this upright position I stepped to the middle of an open green space and continued to keep time to the merry tune which was played. The hunters shouted and laughed and laughed and shouted. The music became faster and louder. Round and round I waltzed, and the trees all began to dance round me, too. Then the green ground span round about, carrying all the hunters and the music in a swift, dizzy circle round me. I feared I was going mad and I determined to save myself. Therefore, I collected all my willpower and stopped turning. The instant I stood still, the ground slipped from beneath my feet, and away I rolled to the bottom of a hill, where I fell asleep.
From this time, I continually practised walking upright. At first it was very difficult to walk for any distance on my hind feet. I could not help bending my nose and looking all down my right side, then all down my left side, and so from side to side, for I seemed such a height above the ground. Also, in order to keep my balance, I was obliged to give my weight first on one leg, then on the other, without lifting them from the ground.
My captors took me to a menagerie, where I was more than comfortable. My food was very good and my water was always clear and fresh. I also had far more liberty than any other animal. I believe this kindness was shown me because I showed no anger or hatred towards anyone, also, I was very careful not to frighten or hurt any of the children, who came near me.
In time I became the principal object of attraction in this menagerie. Crowds came daily and stood in front of my cell and looked, and pointed, and often spoke to me till at last I came to see that I was regarded as a surprising example of wisdom, although I did not understand one word they spoke to me, except when they also made signs. Sometimes, however, I was able to connect sounds with signs, so that I actually learned the meaning of many words. Then first came to me the great desire to learn human speech. I thought since I had learned the meaning of many words why could I not learn many more? And when I had learned certain sounds thoroughly why could I not imitate those words, so as to speak as well as understand?
I determined to do this if possible and I studied very hard. I listened very carefully all day to those whom I heard speaking and at night I practised my voice. At first I could make no sound at all like words, but only strange noises, so that it woke some of the animals, who made a great grumbling, and three of the monkeys mocked me for a week after, chattering, pointing, and making mouths at me. However, I went on trying, and at the end of four years, I understood nearly all that was said to me, even without signs, and could pronounce a number of words very well, though, of course, with rather a foreign accent. I proved this to myself upon two or three occasions, when it was dark and no one knew where the voice came from. By the answers I received I always found that what I had said was understood. Nevertheless, I kept all this a secret.
By this time I was made a show of by myself, and separated from all the other animals in one large corner, which was parted off by a green curtain in front. An additional price was charged to see me. I did not know what in the world they might do with me, if they found they possessed a Bear who could talk! I often longed to be free. I was very tired indeed of this kind of crowding and staring life, and I longed for the beautiful quiet of my native woods. But there seemed no hope of escape.
In the ninth year of my captivity and, I may add, of my private studies, I was sent round the country in a caravan with three keepers who made a great deal of money by me, at the various fairs and markets. I was called on the placards outside, ‘The Intellectual Bear!’
There was also another captive in the caravan,—a large serpent. I tried to be friendly with him but he never noticed me. He was usually asleep, rolled up on a heap of blankets, in a box. When he was awake his eyes were generally shut, and he seemed in a sort of a stupid trance so that we formed no acquaintance. I longed more than ever for my liberty.
One night—it was a hot night in June—after a long journey, while our keepers were away at supper the serpent broke open his box. Presently his head went slowly gliding up to one of the windows, and moved all over the inside shutter. It had not been properly locked, and it opened a little way. Upon this, the serpent raised himself upwards by his mouth, opening the shutter gradually as he rose, till he had coiled about half his body up against the window-frame, and then, with a slow pressure—he burst it open. The next moment he dropped silently through the opening—and was gone!
In an instant the thought of liberty flashed through my mind! I grasped the wooden bars of my cell, with both arms, and crushed three of them together. I jumped down upon the floor of the caravan, and scrambled up to the window. It was too small to let my body through, but I tore away the framework and out I got, and leaped down upon fresh, cool grass in the fresh, cool, night air! Oh, what delight after that steaming hot caravan! I ran off as fast as I could. A few stars were shining. Luckily there was no moon. Our caravan had fortunately been fixed outside the town, so that I had no gates to pass through. I scampered along, dodging between the trees of the avenue just as if I had been pursued, though not a soul was to be seen at that hour; then I cut across some fields and reached a vineyard. Scrambling on through garden and orchard and wood, I came to the highroad which led to a large city. Again I plunged into some vineyards till suddenly I came to a great river which I swam quickly across and landed a little above a village. Again I lost myself in the vineyards, but I did the best I could to avoid villages and pathways leading to towns, for I feared I might meet a party of travelers who would make it known where they had seen me. I knew there would be a wide search for me. So I made my way upward towards some distant mountains. At last I came to a forest where the trees were very large. Up one of them I slowly climbed, being careful not to scrape or leave any marks upon the bark of the tree. Choosing a snug place where several large boughs crossed each other, I bent some of the smaller ones round about, so that I was carefully hidden from all eyes below.
The next morning, as I was sure would be the case, I heard all sorts of noises of hunters and dogs all over the country. Several parties passed directly beneath the tree where I was seated. I heard one of the dogs give such a sniff. Oh! how closely I hugged the trunk of that tree, with my nose pointing up the stem, and not once venturing to look down! I hoped with all my heart not to be seen. This search continued for several days round about me. I never descended and I had nothing to eat. Once it rained in the night, and I drank the water off the leaves, taking whole bunches at a time into my mouth. This quite refreshed me. Nobody ever found me out, except that one morning an old crow with a bright, black eye, came and peeped at me, but as soon as he saw who it was he flew away, crying out, ‘Lawk! Lawk!’
At length the search after me was continued in other parts of the country, and one night I came down to stretch my legs, and sniff about a bit, and see what the world was made of—ahem! I had not walked far before I came to a spot where the hunters had paused to rest and refresh themselves. Here I found two things which had been dropped by some accident—namely, a purse with some money in it and a very large pork pie! The purse I placed in a thicket under a stone, but I had immediate need of the pie. I ate half of it that night; I was so very hungry. The remainder I carried with me up the tree, and made it last five days.
Though I never stopped watching or forgot my caution, the fear I at first had of being discovered and recaptured was very much lessened, so that my mind was free to follow its own course of self-improvement. I continued to practice speaking with the greatest care, repeating all the sentences I knew, and every word I could recollect. I did this so often in order to master the pronunciation that sometimes when I ceased I had a pain in my lower jaw, which lasted for half an hour. However, I continually persevered. I had now practised speaking a human language for nearly twelve years. I spoke very badly I knew; still, I had sometimes found what I said in the dark when I was in the menagerie, had been understood and I was full of hope. How and in what manner to make my first appearance among mankind, was quite a puzzle to me. One preparation as to my personal appearance I knew I must make. I grieved at it. I objected to the narrowness of mind which I knew made it necessary,—yet I knew also that it must be done.
In the early morning of the world, everything was new and wonderful beyond all doubt; but not more new and wonderful than useful and necessary to carry out the future business of creation. Who can deny the high origin of tails? The first animal who was active and well-formed must have had a tail. Of its great importance it would take too much time at present to speak. But even in these modern times how much use and ornament it possesses must be seen by everybody when they think of the lion, the dog, the eagle, the swallow, the monkey, the squirrel, and the fish. Running, leaping, flying, swimming are all helped very much indeed by the tail. Of its use as a fan in sultry weather, as a whisker-away of gnats and flies, I will make no mention. Then, what a tail the beaver has and who is more skilful than he? I will stop. You see I have no tail. Since I had made up my mind to live with mankind it was necessary to accept most of their customs. In short, I found I must give up my tail. This I did at the sacrifice of some private feelings, I assure you.
You must be curious, I think, to hear how I made my first appearance among the circles of mankind, and I will hasten to tell you. Most fortunately, I had a little money, the value of which I knew pretty well. I made my way cautiously across the country into a town one dark evening of a market-day, and with my money I managed to purchase a large pair of shoes, a pair of cow-skin gloves, a piece of gingerbread, and a sheet of white paper. With these materials I made my way to a large city where a great fair was being held.
I chose a dark corner on the outskirts of the fair and spread my sheet of white paper upon the ground. On this white paper I placed a score of gingerbread pills, and, with beating heart and shaking limbs, I addressed the human race on the subject of pills, for I had heard people were very much interested in this subject. I was so alarmed at speaking to a group of such wise beings that even at the time I did not well know what I was saying. However, the moment I began to speak, a number of persons came round me and laughed loudly. I thought I was found out, and stopped.
‘Go on, Doctor! Go on!’ cried they. So I went on. A crowd soon collected, all of whom laughed very much, saying, ‘What a voice! Look at his nose! Did you ever hear such language! What a figure!’
They bought all my gingerbread pills in a very short time, and I was only able to make my escape by telling them I must go to my lodgings for some more.
Oh, how shall I describe the joy and exultation I felt at the great success of my experiment upon the wise and generous human race! I was obliged to double the price of my gingerbread pills in order to prevent them from going so fast. Everything I said produced immense laughter, even when I myself knew I had said no witty or sensible thing at all, while any ordinary reply was received with shouts of applause. They believed that my strange voice, dialect, face, figure, and behaviour were all a part of my make-up, and that I was acting a part! In fact, they thought I could speak and appear very differently, if I liked. I did not feel altogether pleased at this discovery; but I was obliged to take what came and make the most of it. I, therefore, spoke as well as I could, and when I made some shocking blunder, I allowed the people to suppose that I knew better.
I now took my position in society. I had lodgings in a house, and I slept in a bed! I shall never forget the first night I slept in a bed. How I stood looking at the snow-white luxury! and walked round it softly, holding my breath. I touched it very gently, but at last I did muster courage and actually got between the sheets!
I visited other large fairs with increased success, so that in the course of a year or two I had gained a great sum of money.
I soon became famous at all the great fairs where, by some, I was called the Whimsical Doctor, on account of my odd dress, face, and voice, all of which people regarded as my make-up. Several wealthy people whom I met at these fairs offered to go into partnership with me. At last I consented. I took as my partner a clever man named Tobias, who was a jeweller. He sold all his jewels, or rather, he turned all his jewels into gingerbread, and we made wagon-loads of gingerbread pills. In making the large quantities of these, however, Tobias talked to me in a way which caused me to feel, for the first time, that this method of dealing with the human race was not honourable. I began to see that human beings were not so wise as I had imagined, and that nobody ought to cheat them. The more my partner talked over our success the more I felt we were rogues. So one morning I told him that I wished to dissolve our partnership. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘then, as you leave me, of course you will leave with me all the stock in trade, and all the money, too.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘not all the money. Take all the pills, and welcome; but give me back half the money.’ He refused. We spoke sharply to each other and suddenly he said to me, angrily, ‘You shall have nothing. If you say anything more I will tell what I have found out about you. I know what you are. You are not a man—but a bear!’
I was thunderstruck! I fell back into my infant years as if I had fallen over a cliff. I felt I was a bear! But the next moment I seized Tobias in my arms, and lifted him up in the air, saying in a loud voice: ‘Wicked fellow! what shall I do to you?’ At this moment, however, I recollected my mother’s words. I set him down upon the ground, where he stood quite breathless with fright. Then I said to him, ‘Ungrateful man—dishonest partner,—take my money and go thy ways in peace.’
Not knowing what to do, and certainly not knowing what to think, I wandered about the country. Sometimes I sat under hedges and puzzled my brains to understand what sort of thing human reason was. I never could make it out. However, I knew that I was an imposter,—though an innocent imposter, since I could not help wearing a fur coat and a long nose.
One day when I was seated under a tree, eating a turnip, who should pass by but Tobias, all in rags, and looking very ill. Suddenly, he saw me, uttered a cry, and fell down in a fit. I went to him and placed the cool wet leaves of my turnip across his temples. This seemed to revive him and do him good. When he saw that I had no intention to hurt him he asked me to carry him to the nearest peasant’s cottage. I did so and was going away when he called me back and said, ‘I behaved very badly to you, but I was punished. When you left me nobody would buy the pills. The people called loudly for the Wonderful Doctor with the fur coat and the large nose who talked so oddly. As you were not to be found, they said I was a rascal, and an impostor, and they drove me out of the town. I was quite ruined. They seized all our pills and flung them about and the boys pelted each other with pill-boxes in the streets for at least three hours. The very same wonderful pills the world had just before been running after.’
In a few months after this Tobias had a fortune left him by a relation. He sent for me, begged my pardon for his previous behaviour, set me up in business as a merchant, and took great pains to instruct me. In the winter I dealt in pickles and preserves; and in the summer I carried on a wholesale trade in silks and velvets. He wanted me to sell furs also, but I declined that. These occupations I have followed ever since, with great industry and good success. Meantime, however, at all leisure hours I have tried to improve my mind by various studies, and, among others, I even managed to make some progress in mathematics.”
As Mr. Bear said this, all the children thought directly of Uncle Abraham, the mathematician, and were so sorry he was not present to hear about these studies.
“I should now,” continued the stout gentleman, “consider myself very happy, but for one circumstance. I confess I do not like to mention it.
How can this small heart contain
So large a world of joy and pain;
And how can this small tongue declare
All that is felt so deeply there!
Alas, poor Bear!—Alas, poor Bear!
You will all readily understand that to have raised myself by my own efforts so much above the rest of my species, I must have had a nature open to many thoughts and feelings; and that the peculiar tenderness instilled by my mother had grown with my growth, and made me open to all the softer emotions.”
Mr. Bear here paused and gave a deep sigh. Several of the younger children sighed too. Gretchen fixed her eyes upon the floor.
“I was not aware for some time,” said the sorrowful gentleman in the rough coat, “of what kind of feelings had begun to possess me. I felt I was alone in the world. I had long felt that,—but I had so much to do, so much to learn and struggle with, and work at, and so much travelling about and business to attend to, that I did not feel this being alone as any great grief. Besides, as I had been successful in the various difficult things I had attempted, and had for a long time been very fortunate in all my affairs of business, I was in the habit of regarding myself as a happy person. And I was happy, until I began to think that others were more so, and then I saw it was because others, who were happy, could share it with those they loved and also give happiness to the dear object. But I was alone in the world. I had nobody to love. Nobody would ever love me,—except another bear. And you know that the love of another bear was out of the question to one in my advanced state of refinement. What was I to do? I could have loved a dear object—a great many, I am sure—I was going to say—I beg pardon—I do not quite well know what I say at this exciting moment. But—let me try to tell you, that I felt it impossible to live all my life without some tender acquaintance with the little god of love, and as I was by this time long past the season of youth, I was resolved to let my heart be lost with the first object that should present herself to my fancy.
But, strange to relate, no sooner had I made up my mind to fall in love with the first amiable and lovely person I saw than I ceased to meet with any such as I often used to see before. So I began to think the wish had left me, and I determined to study something very difficult in order to occupy my mind, and perhaps cure myself of these lovely fancies. I, therefore, decided to take a course of studies under Mr. Professor Abraham Littlepump, and with that view I first came to this village. I arrived in the evening as you know, but did not intend to have made my visit till next morning, had I not been attracted by the loud merriment of our young friends here. It has always happened that Mr. Professor Abraham Littlepump has been absent when I paid you a visit; but this does not concern me in regard to the mathematics. I have seen one here in this room—who has put all the mathematics clean out of my head. And now comes the end of my story.”
As Mr. Bear uttered those words everybody began to look all round the room and then at each other and then all round the room again.
“Who can Mr. Good-Natured Bear mean?” said Nancy in a whisper to one of the older boys.
“Margaret dear,” said little Valentine, “your ears are as red as my scarlet-runner.”
“Silence!” said Dr. Littlepump.
“Pity an unfortunate creature,” said the stout gentleman. “I have at length seen the object of my devout wishes. Yes, in this very room in this house—have I seen just exactly what I have been speaking of. You understand me?” There was no answer.
“Oh, that I could have had the honour and happiness of being your brother Abraham! I would have devoted my mind to far more beautiful thoughts. Seated in his arm-chair and thinking about mathematical problems he never dreamed of the charming object that was continually before him, sometimes singing to the children, sometimes teaching them to read, and to dance, sometimes working with her delightful needle. Oh, let me change places with him—the cold, insensible, stick of a slate pencil! Now I know what I am saying—or rather I do not very well know what I am saying.”
Poor Mr. Bear here began to cry, and several of the children cried too. But he went on with his strange speech all the same.
“Let Mr. Professor Uncle Abraham stay where he is, with his problems and dumps, and let me be allowed to remain in his place and sit in his chair, so that I may enjoy the happy society of the sweet-voiced Margaret, nursery-governess in the amiable family of Mr. Dr. Littlepump.”
As he concluded the last sentence the unhappy gentleman sank back in his chair, and Gretchen covered her face entirely with both hands.
“I only dare to speak of my affection for this sweet creature. I know I am old for her, too ugly, besides being a Bear. I know I have no hope, but what can I do? How can I help this beating heart? What is to become of me?”
By this time all the children had tears in their eyes. Nancy and little Valentine, however, got close to Gretchen, holding her fast on each side, for fear that perhaps poor Mr. Bear might want to carry her away. Everybody was silent.
At last Nancy ventured to say in a trembling voice, “Perhaps, dear Mr. Bear, you might find somebody else?”
“Oh, that I had eloquence!” exclaimed the Bear. “Oh, that the best words would come of themselves in the best places, while other best words were getting themselves ready to be poured out! Then I should be able to touch the human heart. But, as it is, all my hopes are vanity,—are in fact nothing at all. I must leave this busy scene and go to some quiet place where I am not known. I will again visit the haunts of my childhood and stay there. Oh! my native woods! Ye silent nights, ye small bright stars playing bo-peep through the boughs into hollow caves! I will go back among you, and in the cool, green grass will I lay my head. Farewell! Farewell!”
“But can nothing be done for you, sir?” said Mrs. Littlepump in a soft voice.
“My dear Margaret,” said Doctor Littlepump, “you hear what Mrs. Littlepump asks. It is for you to make some kind of an answer. I wish my brother Abraham were here!”
“I can never love the gentleman in the rough coat,” said Margaret, still holding one hand before her face. “I do not mind his being much older than myself, nor do I think him so very, very ugly—only, he is a Bear!”
“I am a devoted Bear!” declared the stout gentleman with enthusiasm, “and I will be anything else I can, that the dear object may command.”
“I have had a dream!” said Margaret timidly looking up and waiting. “I have had a dream!”
“So have I,” said Dr. Littlepump sternly. “Come, come, I begin to feel uncomfortable.”
“Do not feel so!” exclaimed Mr. Bear, clasping his paws together.
“Make haste!” continued the Doctor, fixing his eyes upon Margaret. “Make haste! Let us hear your dream.”
“I dreamed,” said Margaret, trembling, “that Mr. Bear must go into that closet, and be locked in. Then, all the children were to form a magic circle in the middle of the room, and move slowly round, hand in hand, nine times, saying:
‘Oh, Mr. Bear!
Cupid hears your fond prayer!
Remember your mother’s words,—never despair!’
After this, a glass of lemonade and a slice of cake were to be placed ready for each to take the moment the door was opened, and they saw that the charm was complete. I dreamed this would cause Mr. Bear to be made happy somehow. And then——”
“And then?” said Dr. Littlepump, “what then? I repeat I am beginning to feel very uncomfortable. I smell a plot!”
“Oh, we shall soon see what the dream will do,” said Mrs. Littlepump. “Mr. Bear, will you run all risks of what may happen, and go into the closet?”
“I will do anything, dear Mrs. Littlepump!” exclaimed Mr. Bear. Saying this, he ran towards the closet headforemost. The door was open. The children all peeped in and looked round cautiously to see if anybody was there, but it was quite empty. A large mirror hung on the wall, at the further end. Mr. Bear stepped in, and waited for what might happen to him.
“All in the dark!” said little Valentine, “and the door locked!”
The children now formed a circle in the middle of the room, and while Margaret was pouring out glasses of lemonade, and Lydia and Dorothea were cutting slices of cake, and Wallis was cleaning his spectacles, and Dr. and Mrs. Littlepump were standing silently holding each other by both hands—the children turned in a circle nine times, repeating the words of the charm:
“Oh, Mr. Bear!
Cupid hears your fond prayer!
Remember your mother’s words—never despair.”
When they had finished Mrs. Littlepump unlocked the closet door. Everybody was so silent.
“Margaret,” whispered Mrs. Littlepump, “go and tap at the door.”
Margaret did so, and then the door slowly began to open. It stopped opening, and a voice inside said, “You must take my hand, or I cannot come out.”
And then a well-formed hand was put forth. With a face all scarlet with blushes Margaret gently took it. And then—who should