If Little Black Bear had never before held his breath, he most positively did when, as he gazed with fascination at the wee girl with the tumbling curls, he saw her raise the window and place her two slippered feet on the flagged floor of the cave.
The first thing he noticed was that she carried a bonnet by its long ribbons quite as one holds the handle to a basket. This she first placed on the floor and then, carefully closing the window behind her, again picked it up and started on tiptoe toward Mrs. Shagg.
Now, as you no doubt remember, Little Black Bear had got himself into a snoozy position just as the strange face appeared at the window, and he still lay huddled deep down in the depths of his chair. So, as the one with the bonnet softly crossed the great cave, the back of the chair gradually shut her from view. But Little Black Bear had by this time recovered his breath and, becoming more bold, put his head out from under one arm of the chair in order to see what was about to take place. There sat Mrs. Shagg—sound asleep in the rocker with her apron spread over her knees. Quietly the little girl approached her. Not a sound did she make. Except for the steady “tick-tock, tick-tock” of the clock that stood on the mantel shelf, there was no sound of any kind throughout the whole cave. Now the yellow-haired stranger was at Mrs. Shagg’s very side, and had placed one of her hands under the crown of the bonnet. What in the world was she going to do!
Leaning still farther out, Little Black Bear craned his neck to see just what was about to come next. Ah! now he saw! Their visitor was pouring something into Mrs. Shagg’s lap. But what was it she brought? Again he edged himself still farther along. And then—
Bang!
Both the chair and the curious one struck the floor with a crash!
At the sound of the fall, Mrs. Shagg sprang to her feet with the towering Shagg following after; while at the very same moment the floor of the cave was simply strewn with berries that the little girl had poured from her bonnet into Mrs. Shagg’s lap.
“Plumb-bobs and sawdust, now! What’s all this rumpus?” stormed the carpenter, glaring about. “Oh, it’s you, is it, Tumble Curls; did you come down the chimney and knock over the porridge pot?”
“And just look at the berries—all over the place!” cried Mrs. Shagg.
“And here’s something else on the floor,” added her husband, as his eyes fell upon a certain sheepish-faced party who was just then picking himself up from under the overturned chair.