“Why, what does he do?” asked Squeaky.
“As soon as he is fed his spirit is gone,” replied the housekeeper. “He becomes as timid as a mouse, and trembles if you look at him; jumps if you speak to him; blushes if you pay him any attention.”
“How does a bear blush?” asked Snythergen.
“Bears should not talk when their mouths are full of food,” said Santa Claus kindly
“He does it with his lips. They change color back and forth very rapidly from pink to red. But Santa Claus is coming and it is time for dinner.” As she spoke they entered a dining room so large, the huge table and ancestral chairs seemed like dolls’ furniture in its vast interior.
And now Santa Claus entered smiling blandly. He was attired in gorgeous evening clothes—a flaming swallowtail coat lined with crimson, deep purple vest with large white buttons; a ruby glowing like a burning eye adorned his shirt. Cream silk stockings and pale blue knickerbockers he wore, and his boots were red with black trimmings.
Scarcely had Santa Claus entered the room when the bear came lumbering after him. Eying the “three wise men” with a swift look of recognition he licked his chops.
“Why, it’s our bear!” said Snythergen in a sickly whisper. “How did he follow us?”
The three edged around until the table stood between them and the beast, and they were eying the nearest exit when Santa Claus requested them to be seated at table. The bear was served first, though “served” is hardly the word for the way they rushed food to him. Cramming his mouth full he uttered a few growls.