Again the child stirred and the little bell tinkled. It seemed to Anne that the bell and the staring eyes were symbolic. The gay world played its foolish music and looked with unseeing eyes upon murder and madness. If little Peggy had lain there dead, the little bell would still have tinkled, the wide green eyes would still have stared.
But Peggy, thank God, was alive. Her face, like old ivory against the whiteness of her pillow, showed the ravages of illness, but the doctor had said she was out of danger.
The child stirred and spoke. "Anne," she whispered, "tell me about the bears."
Anne knelt beside the bed. "We must be very quiet," she said. "I don't want to wake Beulah."
So very softly she told the story. Of the Daddy Bear and the Mother Bear and the Baby Bear; of the little House in the Woods; of Goldilocks, the three bowls of soup, the three chairs, the three beds——
In the midst of it all Peggy sat up. "I want a bowl of soup like the little bear."
"But, darling, you've had your lovely supper."
"I don't care." Peggy's lip quivered. "I'm just starved, and I can't wait until I have my breakfast."
"Let me tell you the rest of the story."
"No. I don't want to hear it. I want a bowl of soup like the little bear's."
