ONCE UPON A TIME there was a bear who lived by himself and was very fond of reading. He had two large books which he read over and over and over. On pleasant days he read Lives of Good Bears, but when it rained or hailed or there was a blizzard, he took down the other book from the shelf beside the fireplace and read Lives of Bad Bears.
One particularly disagreeable evening, when the house was buf• feted by wind and squalls of rain and hail, he had a delightful time drinking a mug of hot chocolate while he read all the worst lives he could find. He went to bed late, and fell fast to sleep, and didn't wake up till nine o'clock the next morning.
But then he was disturbed to discover that he could not find
Lives of Bad Bears anywhere. He hunted, and he hunted, and he hunted. He searched under things, on top of things, and in things. He even went to the woodshed, and looked in the bread box. At last, in despair, he called to an owl who was passing by.
"Oh, Mr. Owl, Mr. Owl! I just can't find Lives of Bad Bears
anywhere."
"Pull down the shades and I will help you look," said the owl. The bear pulled down all the shades and in the dusk the owl looked under things, on top of things, and in things, too, but he
did not find the lost book.
When he had gone, the bear tried to turn to his usual occupa• tions, but in vain. He kept thinking of new places where he had not looked. As he was searching under the windowboxes, a raccoon passed by with his two little boys on their way to town for straw• berry ice cream sodas. But seeing the bear's troubled look, he made inquiries and then he and the boys came in to help in the search.
Goodness, what a turmoil those two boys made! They never remembered to close the drawers they opened, or to shut the doors! They left things on the floor and seemed possessed that the book
must be back of the honey jar. When the bear found marks of honey all over his kitchen, he suggested that maybe the raccoon had better take the boys to have their sodas, and when they were gone, he spent the next hour getting his little house snug and neat again.
But he couldn't make himself eat or do anything, until the book turned up. So that evening he gave a Hunt-the-Book Party for his neighbors, and they all came in couples.
The squirrels kept looking in absurd places, like the tops of cur• tain rods, and the snakes, hissing gently, insisted on searching down cracks and pipes. The foxes were found thoroughly explor• ing the refrigerator, and the old lady toad declared it must be upstairs: she was sure, she said, because she had never before had
a chance to see the upstairs of the bear's house, and now she intended to.
When all the others had at last given up the hunt, she didn't join them, and when her husband called up the stairs to her, she just called down in a sleepy voice,
"I'm all right, Hop, you come get me when you're ready to go." The poor bear tried to be jolly as he handed out the refresh• ments, but anyone could see that he could think of nothing but
his lost book.
"I'd give anything to get that book back," he sighed to himself, leaning a big brown arm against the mantel.
"Would you allow me to live here in peace, and give me a bit of cheese every Saturday night?" squeaked a little voice from behind the unlighted logs in the fireplace.
"It's that mouse again!" cried the bear. "I thought I told you last week to pack your things and get out, and stay out, too!"
"I came back for my socks," said the little voice humbly. Then it brightened. "But what if I tell you where your book is, Mr. Bear?"
"Have you taken it?" asked the bear.
"Of course not," came an indignant squeak. "You know I see everything, and I saw where you put that book. But I've been afraid to tell you. You were so cross the last time we met."
"I should think I had a right to be cross," grumbled the bear. "You ate my last apple tart, without asking if you could."
"If I tell you where your book is, you must promise me both kinds of pieces," argued the mouse, "peace of mind and a piece of cheese on Saturday nights, and I'll promise on my word of
honor never to gnaw after ten o'clock or to take anything you don't give me."
"All right," said the bear.
Then the mouse came out from his hiding place and they shook paws.
"It's under your pillow," said the mouse. "You made up your bed this morning without turning your pillow."
"Goodness me, friends," said the bear. "I'm ashamed of my housekeeping."
"Oh, that's nothing," said the badgers, the squirrels, the foxes, the raccoons, and all the rest. "We understand how things like that will happen," and they all followed him up the stairs.
Sure enough, Lives of Bad Bears was under his pillow, but he couldn't get it right away. He had to wake up Old Lady Toad
first, who had made herself very comfortable on his quilt, with the comforter drawn up under her big chin, and had gone fast to sleep until the party was over, for as she always said, "I'm one who likes my sleep."
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