“Silence!” said Dr. Littlepump.
“Pity an unfortunate creature,” said the stout gentleman. “I have at length seen the object of my devout wishes. Yes, in this very room in this house—have I seen just exactly what I have been speaking of. You understand me?” There was no answer.
“Oh, that I could have had the honour and happiness of being your brother Abraham! I would have devoted my mind to far more beautiful thoughts. Seated in his arm-chair and thinking about mathematical problems he never dreamed of the charming object that was continually before him, sometimes singing to the children, sometimes teaching them to read, and to dance, sometimes working with her delightful needle. Oh, let me change places with him—the cold, insensible, stick of a slate pencil! Now I know what I am saying—or rather I do not very well know what I am saying.”
Poor Mr. Bear here began to cry, and several of the children cried too. But he went on with his strange speech all the same.
“Let Mr. Professor Uncle Abraham stay where he is, with his problems and dumps, and let me be allowed to remain in his place and sit in his chair, so that I may enjoy the happy society of the sweet-voiced Margaret, nursery-governess in the amiable family of Mr. Dr. Littlepump.”
As he concluded the last sentence the unhappy gentleman sank back in his chair, and Gretchen covered her face entirely with both hands.
“I only dare to speak of my affection for this sweet creature. I know I am old for her, too ugly, besides being a Bear. I know I have no hope, but what can I do? How can I help this beating heart? What is to become of me?”
By this time all the children had tears in their eyes. Nancy and little Valentine, however, got close to Gretchen, holding her fast on each side, for fear that perhaps poor Mr. Bear might want to carry her away. Everybody was silent.
At last Nancy ventured to say in a trembling voice, “Perhaps, dear Mr. Bear, you might find somebody else?”
“Oh, that I had eloquence!” exclaimed the Bear. “Oh, that the best words would come of themselves in the best places, while other best words were getting themselves ready to be poured out! Then I should be able to touch the human heart. But, as it is, all my hopes are vanity,—are in fact nothing at all. I must leave this busy scene and go to some quiet place where I am not known. I will again visit the haunts of my childhood and stay there. Oh! my native woods! Ye silent nights, ye small bright stars playing bo-peep through the boughs into hollow caves! I will go back among you, and in the cool, green grass will I lay my head. Farewell! Farewell!”