Uncle Wigwag, you know, was an old gentleman bear who was always playing tricks, or jokes, on Neddie and Beckie, and sometimes on Aunt Piffy, too.
Just then in came Mr. Whitewash, the Polar bear gentleman.
“Has anybody seen my cake of ice?” he cried. “I can’t find it. Some one must have my cake of ice!”
You see, being a white Polar bear, from the North Pole, Mr. Whitewash always used to sit on a cake of ice to keep cool, and he often mislaid it, or couldn’t find it, just as Grandma CluckCluck, the old lady hen, used to lose her glasses.
“Where is my cake of ice?” asked Mr. Whitewash, as he looked all around the bear cave-house.
“Oh, my goodness me sakes alive and some horseradish-mustard!” cried Aunt Piffy. “I think I put your cake of ice under the stove, to have it out of the way while I swept, and by this time——”
“Yes, by this time it must be all melted!” cried Mr. Whitewash, as he rushed out to the kitchen. And, as luck would have it, just then, through the door, came Mrs. Stubtail, the mamma bear, and in her hand she had a plate of honey cakes, that she had just baked. Of course Mr. Whitewash rushed right into her, but he didn’t mean to. Down went Mrs. Stubtail, down went the honey cakes—down went Mr. Whitewash, and such a mix-up you never saw in all your life!
But no one was hurt, I’m glad to say, though some of the honey cakes were broken. But that did not hurt them, and Neddie and Beckie picked them up and their mamma let them eat the pieces.
Then Mr. Whitewash managed to find his cake of ice under the stove. It was not quite all melted, but nearly. However, there was enough left for him to sit on and keep cool, until the ice man came with another cake.
Then when everything was quiet Neddie took up his envelope again, and said: