But Grandmother Van Stark had given orders that Johnny Bear—so named from one of Ernest Thompson-Seton's illustrations, which Ethelwyn thought he resembled—was to be treated tenderly and fed often, because Ethelwyn loved him, and she herself loved to feed hungry people and animals.
But one morning there was a great commotion over the discovery that a mouse had been in Grandmother Van Stark's room.
"This is a chance for Johnny Bear to make a reputation as a mouser," said grandmother. "We will take him up-stairs to-night and he shall have a chance to catch that mouse."
"O grandmother, I'm sure he will," said Ethelwyn, earnestly; so she talked to him that afternoon about it.
It had rained in the afternoon,—a cold drizzly rain, so Nancy had lighted a little snapping wood-fire in Grandmother Van Stark's sitting-room. Into this opened the sleeping room in which was Ethelwyn's small bed, and the big mahogany tester bed, where Grandmother Van Stark had slept for more years than Ethelwyn could imagine.
Ethelwyn put Johnny Bear and his basket in front of the grate. It was so "comfy" that he stopped yowling at once and began to purr.
"How does middle night look, Nancy?" said Ethelwyn, as she lay in her little brass bed, watching the dancing shadows on the wall.
"Like any other time, only stiller," replied Nancy. "Go to sleep now, Miss Ethelwyn."
So Ethelwyn presently fell asleep and woke up with a little start just as the clock was striking twelve.
Johnny Bear was stirring around uneasily in the other room. He had been very still; his stomach was full, and his body warm, so that there really was no possible excuse for making a noise. In fact, there was a faint scratching in the closet that concentrated his attention, and froze him into a statue of silence.