And now we must find that out ourselves.
Down! down! down! turning somersault after somersault, the Plush Bear fell. Arthur had held the toy up to the window just as the train was crossing a high bridge, beneath which ran a street. The railroad tracks were on an embankment, and in the street below trees were growing. The train ran over the bridge, or trestle, above the trees.
And it was into one of these trees, growing down in the street, that the Plush Bear fell. Right down among the branches he plunged, but as it was now Summer, and there were leaves on the trees, it was almost like falling on a soft sofa cushion.
"I'm glad this tree was here!" thought the Plush Bear, as he landed on a branch among the soft leaves. "If I had struck on the hard street or on the sidewalk there is no telling what would have happened. I don't believe I'm at all hurt now."
And indeed he was not. Aside from being shaken up and having his plush ruffled, the Bear was not in the least harmed. But had he landed on the road one of his springs inside or some of his wheels might have been broken or twisted, and he never could have growled again or moved his head or paws. That is, unless Mr. Mugg could have mended him.
As it was, the Plush Bear fell down into the tree, and there he stuck on a branch not far from the ground. The Plush Bear sat astraddle the limb.
"Oh, I am not safe yet!" he thought. "Maybe I'll fall after all! I must keep very still and quiet until I see what will happen next."
By this time the train had stopped and Arthur and his father were alighting at the small station.
"This isn't where you get off," said the conductor to Mr. Rowe. "This isn't the seashore."
"I know it," said Mr. Rowe. "But my little boy dropped his Plush Bear out of the window, and we're going back to see if we can get it. Have we time?"