“The brothers and sister believed every word of it; but Mamma put her tongue in her cheek, and gently pointed over her left shoulder with her paw.”
“Oh, must I?” said February, much relieved. “I thought I had to take pains with my language. People who ‘address the young’ usually do. Well, if I may go ahead in my own way it’s all right: you’ve taken a weight off my mind.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Max; “but before you begin, where’s the gift?”
“Here,” said February; and he pulled from his pocket something that looked like a big icicle. It was an icicle, only it didn’t melt in your fingers or feel cold; and it had a delicious taste, like buckwheat cakes, maple molasses, sausages, baked apples, turkey, cranberry sauce, and nuts and raisins, all at once. Max broke it in two, and while Thekla sucked one half and he the other, February began:—
“It’s only about the bears in the North-West Hollow.”
“Bears!” cried Max: “what bears?”
“A real nice family of bears who live up there. Last year when I saw them, they were little fellows about the size of kittens; but they are quite big now, and have got grown-up growls. I thought perhaps you’d like to hear about ’em.”
Oh, wouldn’t they? Both children crept close to him, and drank in every word with red cheeks and round eyes.
“Bears!” cried Max, quite stuttering with excitement. “I didn’t know there were any in the Forest. Oh, do go on!”
“They used to lie all curled up in a heap,” continued February, “at the bottom of a nest in the rocks, which their mother had lined with leaves and moss to keep them warm. They looked just like funny bundles of brown hair. There were four of them,—Snap, Snooze, Roll-about, and Greedy. Roll-about was the fattest and the best-natured, but they were all nice. They lay tangled together, and couldn’t help pulling each other’s fur a good deal; but they quarrelled much less than most brothers and sisters who live in such close quarters.