“Maybe we can find something here to play with,” suggested Flossie.
“Maybe,” agreed Freddie.
They rummaged around in the half-dark place, back in corners where the roof came down slanting and making little “cubby-holes,” and it was after a glance into one of these places that Flossie drew back and whispered to Freddie:
“There’s a bear in here!”
“A bear! Where?” and Freddie moved over closer to Flossie and looked where she pointed.
“There,” said the little girl, and, glancing along the line of her outstretched finger, Freddie saw a big, furry heap in a dark corner. “I touched it first with my foot,” said Flossie, “and it was soft, just like the bear I touched that the Italian had once, leading around by a string in his nose. And then I put out my hand and I felt his fur!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Freddie. “Did he—did he bite you?” He had been looking for something to play with on the other side of the attic, and, therefore, had not seen all that Flossie had.
“Course he didn’t bite me!” the little girl answered. “You didn’t hear me holler, did you?”
“No,” said Freddie, “I didn’t. I’m going to touch him!”
“Come over here,” advised Flossie, moving to one side so Freddie could thrust his hand forward and touch that mysterious heap of fur. “I—I guess maybe he’s asleep, that’s why he didn’t growl or nothin’!”