Toto's Merry Winter Part 12

"What do you say, Bruin?" asked Toto, glancing at his companion. "Shall we go in, or send the crow first, to announce us?"

"You had better go in alone," said the bear, decidedly. "I will stay here with Master Crow, and when--that is, _if_ you think it best for me to come in, later, you have but to call me."

Accordingly Toto entered the cavern, which was dimly lighted by a hole in the roof. As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he perceived a rude pallet at one side, on which was stretched the form of a tall old man. His long white hair and beard were matted and tangled; his thin hands lay helpless by his side; it seemed as if he were scarcely alive. He opened his eyes, however, at the sound of footsteps, and looked half-fearfully at the boy, who bent softly over him.

"Good morning, sir!" said Toto, not knowing what else to say. "Is your leg better, to-day?"

"Water!" murmured the old man, feebly.

"Water? Why, yes, of course! I'll get some in a minute."

He started for the mouth of the cave, but before he reached it, a huge, s.h.a.ggy, black paw was thrust in at the aperture, holding out a bark dish, while a sort of enormous whisper, which just _was_ not a growl, murmured, "Here it is!"

"Thank you, Bru--I mean, thank you!" said Toto, in some confusion, glancing apprehensively toward the bed. But the old man noticed nothing, till the clear cool water was held to his lips. He drank eagerly, and seemed to gain a little strength at once, for he now gazed earnestly at Toto, and presently said, in a feeble voice:--

"Who are you, dear child, and what good angel has sent you to save my life?"

"My name is Toto," replied the boy. "As to how I came here, I will tell you all that by-and-by; but now you are too weak either to talk or to listen, and I must see at once about getting you some--"

"_Food!_" came the huge whisper again, rolling like a distant muttering of thunder through the cavern; and again the s.h.a.ggy paw appeared, solemnly waving a bowl of jelly.

Toto flew to take it, but paused for a moment, overcome with amus.e.m.e.nt at the aspect presented by his friend. The good bear had wedged his huge bulk tightly into a corner behind a jutting fragment of rock. Here he sat, with the basket of provisions between his knees, and an air of deep and solemn mystery in his look and bearing. Not seeing Toto, he still held the bowl of jelly in his outstretched paw, and opening his cavernous jaws, was about to send out another rolling thunder-whisper of "Food!" when Toto sprang quickly on the jelly, and taking a spoon from the basket, rapped the bear on the nose with it, and then returned to his charge.

The poor hermit submitted meekly to being fed with a spoon, and at every mouthful seemed to gain strength. A faint color stole into his wan cheek, his eyes brightened, and before the bowl was two thirds empty, he actually smiled.

"I little thought I should ever taste jelly again," he said. "Indeed, I had fully made up my mind that I must starve to death here; for I was unable to move, and never thought of human aid coming to me in this lonely spot. Even my poor crow, my faithful companion for many years, has left me. I trust he has found some other shelter, for he was feeble and lame, himself."

"Oh, he is all right!" said Toto, cheerily. "It was he who showed us the way here; and he's outside now, talking to--that is--talking to himself, you know."

"Showed _us_ the way?" repeated the hermit. "You have a companion, then?

Why does he not come in, and let me thank him also for his kindness?"

"He?" said Toto, stammering. "He--oh--he--he doesn't like to be thanked."

"But at least he will come in!" urged the old man. "Do, pray, ask him! I am distressed to think of his staying outside. Is he a very shy boy?"

"He isn't a boy," said Toto. "He's--oh! what a muddle I'm making of it!

He's bigger than a boy, sir, a great deal bigger. And--I hope you won't mind, but--he's black!"

"A negro! is it possible?" exclaimed the hermit. "My dear boy, I have no prejudice against the Ethiopian race. I must insist on his coming in.

Stay! I will call him myself. I believe they are generally called either Caesar or Pompey. Mr. Pomp--"

"Oh, stop!" cried Toto, in distress. "His name _isn't_ Pompey, it's Bruin. And he wouldn't come in yet if I were to--"

"Cut him into inch pieces!" came rolling like m.u.f.fled thunder through the doorway.

The old hermit started as if he had been shot. "Ah! what is that?" he cried. "Boy! boy! who--_what_ is that speaking?"

"Oh, dear!" cried Toto, distractedly. "Oh, dear! what shall I do? Please don't be alarmed, Mr. Baldhead--I mean, Mr. Hermit. He is the best, dearest, kindest old fellow _in the world_, and it isn't his fault, because he was--"

"Born so!" resounded from without; and the poor hermit, now speechless with terror, could only gasp, and gaze at Toto with eyes of agonized entreaty.

"Yes, he was born so!" continued the boy. "And we might have been bears ourselves, you know, if we had happened to have them for fathers and mothers; so--" But here he paused in dismay, for the hermit, without more ado, quietly fainted away.

"Oh, Bruin! Crow! come here!" cried Toto. "I am afraid he is dead, or dying. What shall we do?"

At this summons the crow came hopping and fluttering in, followed by the unhappy bear, who skulked along, hugging the wall and making himself as small as possible, while he cast shamefaced and apologetic glances toward the bed.

"Oh, you needn't mind now!" cried Toto. "He won't know you are here. Do you think he is dead, Crow? Have you ever seen him like this before?"

But the crow never had; and the three were standing beside the bed in mute dismay, when suddenly a light flutter of wings was heard, and a soft voice cooed, "Toto! Bruin!" and the next moment Pigeon Pretty came flying into the cave, with a bunch of dried leaves in her bill. A glance showed her the situation, and alighting softly on the old man's breast she held the leaves to his nostrils, fanning him the while with her outspread wings.

"Oh!" she said, "I have flown so fast I am quite out of breath. You see, dears, I was afraid that something of this sort might happen, as soon as I heard of your going. I was in the barn, you know, when you were talking about it, and getting ready. So I flew to my old nest and got these leaves, of which I always keep a store on hand. See, he is beginning to revive already."

In truth, the pungent fragrance of the leaves, which now filled the air, seemed to have a magical effect on the sick man. His eyelids fluttered, his lips moved, and he muttered faintly, "The bear! oh, the bear!"

The wood-pigeon motioned to Bruin and Toto to withdraw, which they speedily did, casting remorseful glances at one another. Silently and sadly they sat down in the porch, and here poor Bruin abandoned himself to despair, clutching his s.h.a.ggy hair, and even pulling out several handfuls of it, while he inwardly called himself by every hard name he could think of. Toto sat looking gloomily at his boots for a long time, but finally he said, in a whisper:--

"Cheer up, old fellow! it was all my fault. I do suppose I am the stupidest boy that ever lived. If I had only managed a little better--hark! what is that?"

Both listened, and heard the soft voice of the wood-pigeon calling, "Bruin! Bruin! Toto! come in, both of you. Mr. Hermit understands all about it now, and is ready to welcome _both_ his visitors."

Much amazed, the two friends rose, and slowly and hesitatingly re-entered the cave, the bear making more desperate efforts even than before to conceal his colossal bulk. To his astonishment, however, the hermit, who was now lying propped up by an improvised pillow of dry moss, greeted him with an unflinching gaze, and even smiled and held out his hand.

"Mr. Bruin," he said, "I am glad to meet you, sir! This sweet bird has told me all about you, and I am sincerely pleased to make your acquaintance. So you have walked ten miles and more to bring help and comfort to an old man who stole your honey!"

But this was more than the good bear could stand. He sat down on the ground, and thrusting his great s.h.a.ggy paws into his eyes, fairly began to blubber. At this, I am ashamed to say, all the others fell to laughing. First, Toto laughed--but Toto, bless him! was always laughing; and then Pigeon Pretty laughed; and then Jim Crow; and then the hermit; and finally, Bruin himself. And so they all laughed together, till the forest echoes rang, and the woodchucks almost stirred in their holes.

CHAPTER IX.

IT was late in the afternoon of the same day. In the cottage at home all was quiet and peaceful. The grandmother was taking a nap in her room, with the squirrel curled up comfortably on the pillow beside her. In the kitchen, the fire and the kettle were having it all their own way, for though two other members of the family were in the room, they were either asleep or absorbed in their own thoughts, for they gave no sign of their presence. The kettle was in its glory, for Bruin had polished it that very morning, and it shone like the good red gold. It sang its merriest song, and puffed out clouds of snow-white steam from its slender spout.

"Look at me!" it said to the fire. "Am I not well worth looking at? I feel almost sure that I must have turned into gold, for I never used to look like this. A golden kettle is rather a rare thing, I flatter myself. It really seems a pity that there is no one here except the stupid parrot, who has gone to sleep, and that odious racc.o.o.n, who always looks at me as if I were a black pot, and a cracked pot at that."

"To be sure!" crackled the fire, encouragingly. "To be sure! But never mind, my dear! I admire you immensely, as you know, and it is my greatest pleasure to see myself reflected in your bright face. Crick!

crack! cr-r-r-r-rickety!" said the fire.

"Hm! hm! tsing! tsing! tsing!" sang the kettle. And they performed really a very creditable duet together.

Now it happened that the parrot was not asleep, though she had had the bad taste to turn her back on the fire and the kettle. She was looking out of the window, in fact, and wondering when the wood-pigeon would come back. Though not a bird of specially affectionate nature, Miss Mary was still very fond of Pigeon Pretty, and always missed her when she was away. This afternoon had seemed particularly long, for no one had been in the kitchen save c.o.o.n, with whom she was not on very good terms.

Now, she thought, it was surely time for her friend to return; and she stretched her neck, and peered out of the window, hoping to catch the flutter of the soft brown wings. Instead of this, however, she caught sight of something else, which made her start and ruffle up her feathers, and look again with a very different expression.

Outside the cottage stood a man,--an ill-looking fellow, with a heavy pack strapped on his back. He was looking all about him, examining the outside of the cottage carefully, and evidently listening for any sound that might come from within. All being silent, he stepped to the window (not Miss Mary's window, but the other), and took a long survey of the kitchen; and then, seeing no living creature in it (for the racc.o.o.n under the table and the parrot on her perch were both hidden from his view), he laid down his pack, opened the door, and quietly stepped in.

An ill-looking fellow, Miss Mary had thought him at the first glance; but now, as she noiselessly turned on her perch and looked more closely at him, she thought his aspect positively villanous. He had a hooked nose and a straggling red beard, and his little green eyes twinkled with an evil light as he looked about the cosey kitchen, with all its neat and comfortable appointments.