It is impossible to describe the effect this statement had on the old kitchen and its occupants; and Polly, well pleased, rushed on, dilating on how the bear looked, and how Tommy looked, and how the little white chicken looked; till, in a pause, the crackling in the old stove proclaimed all things ready for the baking of Mamsie’s birthday cake, and she exclaimed, “Deary me, I must hurry. Oh well! Tommy saw the bear getting ready to spring, just like this; and he put up his gun, like this, and it went bang—bang! and over went Mr. Bear quite, quite dead.”
“Like this?” cried Joel, tumbling off from the table-end to a heap in the middle of the old floor; “just like this, Polly?” sticking up his stubby black head to look at her.
“No—no!” cried Davie, hurrying to make another heap of himself by Joel’s side; “he stuck up his legs, didn’t he, Polly?” and out went David’s arms and legs as stiff as sticks, as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
“Hoh—hoh!” laughed Joel in derision; “bears don’t tumble down that way, Dave, when they’re killed; do they, Polly?”
“Yes, they do too,” contradicted little David, not moving a muscle; “don’t they, Polly?” while Phronsie tried to get out of her big chair to show, too, how she thought the bear would tumble over.
“Oh, no, Phronsie pet, you mustn’t!” cried Polly in alarm; “you’ll hurt your poor toes. Well, I think the bear looked something like both of you boys. He didn’t stick his legs up stiff, but he was on his back like Davie.”
“Well, I’m on my back,” cried Joel, whirling over; while David’s stiff little wooden legs and arms fell down in a twinkling. “Well, now you boys must get me the cinnamon,” said Polly, with a brisk eye on the old clock. “Deary me, I ought to have this cake in the oven—it’s in the Provision Room, you know.”
“And then we’ll get something to eat,” cried the two bears, hopping up to race off.