Presently he pounced, and a little shriek, piteous and faint, told the story. Then Johnny Bear played ball with his victim, and ran up and down the room as gaily as if he had never known what it was to cry.
But all at once something went wrong; a crackle in the grate sent a glowing coal over the fender and on the rug, where it smoldered and smoked, and then ran out a little tongue of flame. So Johnny Bear began to mew again loudly and uneasily, the clock struck twelve, and Ethelwyn awoke.
"Hush, Johnny Bear, dear," she said softly from the other room; "you'll wake up grandmother."
But grandmother was awake, and lifted her head just in time to see the tongue of fire.
She was over the side of the bed in a minute, and, snatching up a pitcher of water, dashed it over the rug.
Ethelwyn jumped up too and snatched Johnny Bear in her arms.
"I don't think twelve o'clock at night looks stiller, do you, grandmother?" she asked. "Aren't you glad Johnny Bear came to live with us, and—oh! oh!" he cried, for she had stepped on a soft little mouse, lying quite still now on the floor.
"O Johnny, how could you?" she said sorrowfully, quite forgetting her instructions to him in the afternoon.
"But he is brave, isn't he, grandmother?"
"Very," said grandmother, "and he shall have a saucer of cream in the morning. But come now, chicken; I've put out the fire, and covered the other, so I think we can sleep in peace."