The Bear himself was knocking the cover into the air. The top of his head could be seen as he hopped about, evidently in pain.
And now an extraordinary thing happened: A black glittering body shot rustling through the grass to the side of the Den. Then up went a scaly head, and forth darted a flaming tongue—driving the Bear back under the cover!
At which the Bear rebelled. For his growls turned into a muffled protest—"Now, you stop, Miss Royle! I won't be treated like this! I won't!"
Then Gwendolyn understood Jane's hum! And why the governess had obeyed it so swiftly. The light-colored cage with the loose cover was nothing else than the old linen-hamper! As for the Bear—!
Hair flying, cheeks crimson, eyes shining with quick tears of joy, she darted past Jane, leaped the glittering snake-folds before the hamper, and swung the cover up on its hinges.
"Puffy!" she cried. "Oh, Puffy!"
It was indeed Puffy, with his plushy brown head, his bright, shoe-button eyes, his red-tipped, sharply pointed nose, his adorably tiny ears, and deep-cut, tightly shut, determined mouth. It was Puffy, as dear as ever! As old and as squashy!
He stood up in the hamper to look at her, leaning his front paws—in rather a dignified manner—on the broken edge of the basketry. He was breathing hard from his contest, but smiling nevertheless.
"Ah!" said he, affably. "The Poor Little Rich Girl, I see!"
Gwendolyn's first impulse was to take him up in her arms. But his proud air, combined with the fact that he had grown tremendously, caused her to check the impulse.