"Made out of your grandfather's tail, did you say, Toto?" said the bear, in an undertone. "Astonishing!"
"No, no, Bruin!" cried the boy, half pettishly. "Made out of his hair! Surely you might know by this time that we have no tails."
"True! true!" murmured the bear, apologetically. "I beg your pardon, Toto, boy. You are not really vexed with old Bruin?"
Toto rubbed his curly head affectionately against the shaggy black one, in token of amity, and the bear continued:—
"When Madam was a young grandmother, was she as beautiful as she is now?"
"Why, yes, I fancy so," replied Toto. "Only she wasn't a grandmother then, you know."
"How so?" inquired Bruin. "What else could she be? You never were anything but a boy, were you?"
"Oh, no, of course not!" said Toto. "But that is different. When Granny was young, she was a girl, you see."
"I don't believe it!" said the bear, stoutly. "I—do—not—believe it! I saw a girl once—many years ago; it squinted, and its hair was frowzy, and it wore a hideous basket of flowers on its head,—a dreadful creature! Madam never can have looked like that!"
At this moment a knock was heard at the door. Toto flew to open it, and with a beaming face ushered in the old hermit, who entered leaning on his stick, with his crow perched on one shoulder and the hawk on the other.