Teddy Bears

<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span></p> <h2>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> <small><i>Bedelia Becomes Literary.</i></small></h2> <div> <ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/drop-h.jpg" width-obs="178" height-obs="174" alt="H" /></div> <p class="drop-capi">HE found Bedelia fast asleep and apparently in small need of a sedative, and, leaving the prescription on her pillow, retired to his perch in a rather disgusted frame of mind. And none too soon, for immediately the wheels inside him ceased to go around and he became dead to the world until someone should come along with a key.</p> <p>Not until next morning was it discovered the baby cub was missing. Terrified by the dire result of his heartless prank, and apprehensive of condign punishment, he had flown no one knew whither, and truth to tell, nobody appeared to care a nickel, but all declared that the room of such an ill-behaved little animal was indeed preferable to his company.</p> <p>For the alligator had been greatly liked and his untimely and wholly unnecessary taking off was mourned by a large circle of sorrowing friends.</p> <p>To be sure, he had always from the very first insisted upon passing himself off as the real thing, and would have been mortally<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span> offended had anyone intimated that he was not a stuffed alligator. “When I was really alive,” and “before I came to be stuffed” had been favorite prefaces to some of his rather long-winded stories concerning his former life in Florida.</p> <p>But as the guinea pig remarked, one meets with so many shams in society that it really doesn’t pay to be too censorious, even if one does know alligator hide from papier-mache.</p> <p>Meanwhile Bedelia, stiff and sore from her ducking was not nearly as sore and stiff as she made herself out to be. The loss of Little Breeches had rendered her even more furious than had the disappearance of the twins. Only in this case she was unable to vent her feelings on the head of her husband, for which he sincerely thanked his lucky stars. As long as Bedelia posed as an invalid, he did his best to be kind and gentle, but it was hard work, for his wife was certainly past-master in the art of being provoking.</p> <p>Suddenly seized with a new idea, she declared that she was going into a decline and took to composing poetry in imitation of Miss Palmer, to whose verses she had often listened while sitting up stiff and straight and apparently deaf and dumb in the nursery.</p> <p>As neither Peter Pan nor Bedelia could write, the embryo poetess had no means whatever of recording her literary ventures and was obliged to depend upon her memory for the reproduction of her ideas.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span> And as she not infrequently forgot the most telling points, the result was often disastrous. Her newly discovered gift was, of course, no secret to the society of the nursery and all were anxious to hear some of the verses which Bedelia had, thus far, kept entirely to herself. It was quite evident to any casual observer that Bedelia had become possessed of the divine afflatus. She would sit for hours at a time gazing mournfully into space, looking at one spot until, as Tim the crow vowed, she very nearly looked a hole through it. “Bedelia-sit-by-the-hour” he christened her, being something of a wit himself, although he was too well-mannered ever to thrust the fact on anyone else.</p> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus138.jpg" width-obs="415" height-obs="325" alt="bear on platform addressing crowd of bears in audience" /></div> <p>At length curiosity became unbearable, and the stuffed guinea pig who was looked upon as a person of culture, was deputed to request that Bedelia would give a reading of her own compositions. To which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span> proposition she readily, not to say delightedly, consented, and it was at once arranged that the affair should take place that evening in the nursery, of course.</p> <p>A platform, consisting of two collar boxes, was erected on the edge of the window sill where all might hear and see; and at the appointed hour every seat was taken, to say nothing of those who were obliged to stand.</p> <p>The fair author was somewhat late, but after some delay the wooden soldier, who had been appointed manager of the entertainment, announced that it would commence. And Bedelia, bowing languidly, recited the following:</p> <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="center">EPITAPH ON THE LATE ALLIGATOR P. M.</div> <div class="verse">The Alligator, lo, is dead!</div> <div class="verse">Bereft of his head,</div> <div class="verse">His life breath sped,</div> <div class="verse">And to another sphere his spirit fled.</div> </div></div> <p>This was received with great applause, only one rude and irreligious listener arose in the background and demanded to know where the epitaph was to be inscribed, adding that the remains of the departed, as they all very well knew, had been deposited in the kitchen coal scuttle.</p> <p>Could an epitaph be recorded on a coal hod?</p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span></p> <p>This unkind inquiry, while rather acting as a wet blanket, raised a storm of discussion which was finally quelled by Tim, who remarked that it was not absolutely necessary to inscribe it anywhere. He also suggested that the P. M. (papier mache) be changed to R. T., as the alligator had always considered himself the Real Thing.</p> <p>The vexed question having been amicably disposed of, the artist of the evening proceeded to the second number on the program, which was entitled</p> <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="center">“A PASTORAL.”</div> <div class="verse">The rain was very wet indeed,</div> <div class="verse">The trees were standing still;</div> <div class="verse">The river was running the usual way,</div> <div class="verse">For it never could travel up hill.</div> </div></div> <p>“Of course it couldn’t,” remarked the guinea pig. “Why should it? And how about the trees? One never sees them running around. And why shouldn’t the rain be wet? Did one ever hear of dry rain except the Raines law?”</p> <p>As these remarks were uttered in a loud voice, they were perfectly audible to all the audience. Immediately a hubbub of criticisms, pro and con, arose, in the midst of which the two collar boxes that constituted the platform became so energetic that they suddenly parted company, precipitating Bedelia to the ground.</p> <p>In the confusion that followed it would be but reasonable to conclude<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span> that the entertainment was ended. Peter Pan lugged off his wife, after having applied a smelling bottle in the usual place, and the cause of all the disaster marched off to bed singing at the top of its shrill voice:</p> <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="verse">“See them in the windows,</div> <div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">See them everywhere;</span></div> <div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Shapeless little creatures</span></div> <div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Called the Teddy bears.”</span></div> </div></div> <p>This verse, which had been picked up from a local paper, was immediately adopted by the faction unfriendly to Bedelia, and for a time her life was made miserable by hearing it on every side. For it must be confessed that Bedelia was particularly proud of her figure, and to be called shapeless was more than her strength could well bear.</p> <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus141.jpg" width-obs="144" height-obs="358" alt="Sally in warm coat and fluffy hat" /></div> <p>The crisp days of Autumn had come and already Bob was talking of nutting parties. The spirit of Hallowe’en was in the air and the brisk weather sent roses to Sally’s cheeks and a frosty sparkle to her dancing eyes. Bob remarked that the tip of her little nose resembled a bachelor’s button. But Sally took all his teasing good naturedly in the spirit in which it was sent.</p> <p>Dr. North’s residence was situated well uptown in the Forest City<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span> and almost directly opposite stood a small park, presented by one of the wealthy residents in memory of a little daughter who had died in years long gone by. “Grace Park” was one of Sally’s favorite haunts and here she spent many delightful hours feeding the pigeons, the guinea hens and the gray squirrels.</p> <p>To be sure, she was not very fond of the guinea hens, although she rather enjoyed them when roasted. They were ugly, awkward creatures, and made such a horrible clacking noise. And the pigeons were no rarity; Bob had a whole coop full of them. But the squirrels were dear, cosy, furry, gray creatures, with their fluffy, feathery tails and their sharp bright eyes, and little paws clasped across their breasts as they sat up on their haunches, snuffing the air. So tame they were, for nobody thought of molesting them, that they were ready to spring on Sally’s knee at the mere sight of a nut and take the morsel from her hand.</p> <p>How still the child sat while her furry friend cracked nut after nut, picking out the kernels and devouring them with relish. And then, when he could eat no more, scampering off to bury the rest of his plunder, first carefully biting off the blossom end in order that it might not germinate when covered up in the ground.</p> <p>The child thought the wisdom of the furry folk very wonderful<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span> indeed and wondered if the little fellows ever found the hiding places of their treasures in after days.</p> <p>Chip, as Sally had named her favorite squirrel, was so tame that he often followed her out of the park and across the street to the kitchen door, which he was not slow to enter, for well he knew that cook kept a generous store of nuts in the pantry for his especial benefit.</p> <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus143.jpg" width-obs="267" height-obs="349" alt="Sally sitting under tree in park with squirrel on her knee" /></div> <p>On one beautiful afternoon Sally was sitting on her favorite bench in the Park under a spreading maple, whose gorgeous foliage of crimson and fine gold cast strange moving shadows on the grass as the west wind gently swayed the branches.</p> <p>Perched on her knees was Chip, busily engaged in demolishing a fine walnut. Having finished it and thrown away the shell, he sat up gravely with his little paws crossed on his breast, as is the fashion with squirrels at attention, and gently closed his eyes while Sally softly stroked his soft fur and scratched his round ears, a process which he enjoyed luxuriously.</p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</SPAN></span></p> <p>After a few moments he opened his bright eyes and looking up into the child’s face remarked: “Sally, do you know what night this is going to be?”</p> <p>“Hallowe’en,” responded Sally promptly. “And Bob and I are going to have jack-o’-lanterns, and duck for apples and have lots of fun.”</p> <p>“So will we see lots of fun,” replied Chip with an important air. Sally fancied there was something significant in his glance. But as it was growing late she gently placed him on the bench and trotted home, while Chip frisked away to his cosy little cottage in the branches of the maple tree.</p> <p>At the front door of the house the child met Peter Pan. He hurried toward her, evidently bursting with suppressed excitement.</p> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus144.jpg" width-obs="204" height-obs="69" alt="decoration" /></div> <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />