THE STRANGE STORY OF MR. DOG AND MR. BEAR[26]

THE STRANGE STORY OF MR. DOG AND MR. BEAR[26]

Mabel Fuller Blodgett

(For very little folk)

The Christmas Tree

Mr. Bear was looking forward to the first real snowstorm because Mr. Dog had made a fine double-runner, and they were both planning for little housework, and a lot of coasting. Mr. Bear’s fur suit was just the thing for winter sports, but Mr. Dog had been obliged to go to the village and buy himself a sweater. It was bright crimson and was very becoming. Mr. Dog, who loved fine clothes, had also purchased a scarlet and white skating cap, with a tassel that hung down over one ear in a most engaging manner. So both Mr. Dog and Mr. Bear could hardly wait for cold weather to set in, and they spent a great deal of time running out to the porch and looking at the thermometer that hung there. When they were not doing that, they were reading the weather reports in the newspapers, or watching the clouds, and at last they were rewarded late one afternoon by the sight of large feathery flakes of snow lazily floating downward from a cold gray sky. But alas! there was to be no coasting for either of them, for many days to come.

Mr. Bear, who had not been feeling like himself for some time, came down with the mumps the very next morning, and Mr. Dog had his paws full with cooking, and nursing, and bedmaking, and carrying up trays to the invalid.

Now I suppose you never saw a bear with the mumps! It is a sorry sight, I assure you, and the cottage was a sad place now with only the doctor’s visits for company and Mr. Bear in the dreadfulest state with his poor neck so swollen that none of his collars would fit him—he had lately, to please Mr. Dog, taken to wearing them. For daily use a red bandana handkerchief became the only thing possible. Well, Mr. Dog was a pretty fair nurse, though he did bring Mr. Bear some lemonade the first day, and, if you’ve ever had mumps, you will know how Mr. Bear felt after he got a real good taste. But Mr. Dog was more careful after that and never so much as said “pickles” or brought Mr. Bear anything that was sour or puckery, so they got along quite nicely.

Still, there was a lot of time for thinking, and Mr. Bear, looking wistfully out on the snowy landscape, began to plan for Christmas. He decided that he would surprise Mr. Dog, and the surprise would take the form of a Christmas tree. There were plenty of dear little firs growing about near by, each one holding up its tiny branches as if begging for the honor of being chosen, and Mr. Bear knew Mr. Dog, who was something of a carpenter, was just dying to have a complete tool-chest, and he thought what a fine present that would be and how beautifully the awl and saws and other tools would glitter, hung from the branches in the light of the Christmas candles.

Mr. Bear would also see that Mr. Dog had a wonderful big bone, the best in the market, and tied with scarlet ribbon and holly, and a bottle of perfumery, and oh, yes! a dozen handkerchiefs with colored borders. Mr. Bear had to get his notebook down and write the things as fast as he remembered them, and the best of it was Mr. Bear was determined, firmly determined, that Mr. Dog should know nothing whatever about the whole matter.

Now the funny part of it was that Mr. Dog had been thinking also, and the end of his reflections were pretty much what Mr. Bear’s had been. He would give Mr. Bear a Christmas tree and Mr. Bear should know nothing whatever about it.

Mr. Dog was so excited that one day he put salt instead of sugar into the pudding and never knew the difference till he and Mr. Bear sat down to dessert together. By this time Mr. Bear was better, and soon he was well enough to go coasting, which means that he was well enough to do anything at all that he wanted to.

His actions began to puzzle Mr. Dog. In the first place, Mr. Bear began to make a lot of mysterious trips to the village, and then he was always getting a lot of catalogues, which he was careful to keep locked up. One day Mr. Dog found him measuring the height of the parlor ceiling, and he looked very much embarrassed when asked what he was doing; and yet Mr. Dog hadn’t the slightest idea of what was going on. You see, he was so full of his own plans to surprise Mr. Bear that it never crossed his mind that Mr. Bear might have secret holiday plans of his own. Mr. Dog was chiefly concerned that Mr. Bear shouldn’t find out what he was doing, and, as he was much more careful than poor, dear, blundering Mr. Bear, he never gave his friend the slightest idea of what was in his mind.

After a lot of thinking, Mr. Dog decided to cut the prettiest little Christmas tree you ever saw, that he had found near by in the forest. He would trim it with popcorn and cranberries and little candles, and he would give Mr. Bear a half dozen jars of the finest honey, because Mr. Bear loved honey best of anything, and a big blueberry pie tied up with scarlet ribbon and holly, for Mr. Bear liked blueberry pie next best, and a muffler, a beautiful warm plaid muffler, because Mr. Bear wasn’t stylish but loved to be comfortable. Oh, yes, and a white and gold book for the parlor table. Mr. Dog didn’t care at all what was inside the book, but he wanted a very handsome cover. It would look awfully well under the best lamp, and as the only book in the house was a cook-book, Mr. Dog felt it would lend quite an air to the whole cottage, and was, in a way, really needed. To do all this would take every penny Mr. Dog had earned, but Mr. Dog did not grudge a single cent of his hoard.

Mr. Bear didn’t tell anybody of his plan, and Mr. Dog didn’t tell anybody either. They both gave very good reasons for refusing a number of invitations that they received for Christmas parties; Mr. Bear, looking very wise, said he felt rather old for romping about, just a quiet evening in slippers at home for him; and Mr. Dog said what with the mumps and all he was so behindhand with his work that he thought he would rather spend a quiet day at home, with slippers and a comfortable chair before the fire in the evening.

But what were they going to do about Christmas, their friends asked.

Mr. Bear looked up in the air and rubbed his head and finally said something about wreaths in the windows, and Mr. Dog answered briskly that he was going to make the finest plum pudding that day for dinner they ever saw and if that wasn’t celebrating Christmas, what was?

Still, it did seem as if the time would never arrive, for you know yourself how slow Christmas and birthdays and vacations are about getting around; and how very quickly school-days and trips to the dentist, and such things come. But at last it really was December twenty-fourth, and that very evening after sunset had been planned both by Mr. Dog and Mr. Bear for their grand surprise.

Mr. Dog had all his presents on the top shelf of his bedroom closet, and Mr. Bear had all his presents on the top shelf of his bedroom closet: and both of them had their closets locked and the keys in their pockets.

Neither of the friends talked much at supper that night for both were too busy thinking. Mr. Bear wanted to get some good excuse for leaving Mr. Dog and getting into the forest where the Christmas tree was to be found. It was already cut, but it wanted trimming, and Mr. Bear decided to trim it right where it stood, or rather where it leaned against another fir-tree, and then manage some way to get it into the house without Mr. Dog’s knowing it. Mr. Bear’s pockets were full of tinsel and bells, gilt walnuts, golden and silver balls, and such like ornaments. He fairly tinkled when he walked; but Mr. Dog was so very busy thinking that he didn’t notice.

At last supper was over and the dishes neatly washed and put away. The two friends turned to each other, and both spoke at once and said just the same thing all in a breath without pausing:

“I was thinking of taking a little stroll this evening.”

“Why, that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Bear, putting on his cap and goloshes as he spoke. It was handy for him not having to bother with anything more on account of his fine fur coat, though he would rather have liked a muffler.

“I think so, too,” said Mr. Dog, hurriedly getting into his coasting togs—sweater, tasseled cap, and all.

“Which way were you going, Mr. Bear? I was thinking of going west—”

“I was thinking of going east,” said Mr. Bear, much relieved at the turn things were taking. And so the two friends parted.

Mr. Bear called out over his shoulder, “No use, Mr. Dog, of being back before eight o’clock a fine night like this.”

“Oh, no!” said Mr. Dog, much pleased and inwardly planning to get his tree trimmed in the forest, and then to have it all set up in the cottage a few moments before that hour.

So both friends hurried off—Mr. Dog to the west, to hang on his tree as fast as ever he could the strings of cranberries and pop-corn with which his pockets were bulging, and Mr. Bear to decorate his tree in the most beautiful manner and as rapidly as possible. And my! weren’t they busy? You may not believe it, but each of them got through the very same moment, which was exactly seventeen and a half minutes to eight o’clock, and each of them was exactly one half mile from home. Mr. Bear put his tree on his shoulder and started; Mr. Dog put his tree on his shoulder and started. Mr. Bear’s tree was bigger and heavier than Mr. Dog’s tree, but then Mr. Bear was stronger than Mr. Dog, so they both covered the ground at the same rate of speed.

Now I suppose you have already guessed what happened. It was sure to, wasn’t it? And it just did.

Mr. Dog, stealthily coming up the back way, and Mr. Bear, stealthily coming up the front way, met right at the cottage door, and I wish you had been there to see them. I don’t suppose their eyes were ever wider opened in all their lives; and as for their mouths, they were open too, and both their tongues were hanging out.

Mr. Dog was the quickest, so he began to laugh first, but Mr. Bear was not long in following, and they both laughed so hard they had to lean their beautiful Christmas trees up against the side of the cottage while they rolled over and over in the snow and neither one could stop.

But at last Mr. Bear caught his breath and sat up, and Mr. Dog, still wiping away tears of merriment with his paw, sat up too, and then it all came out—their wonderful plans and all the doings.

Well, the end of it was, there were two Christmas trees set up in Mr. Bear’s house that night and two very happy people.

The presents were truly a surprise after all, and they were exactly right. Each said so to the other, I don’t know how many times. Mr. Bear put on his muffler at once, though the cottage was as hot as hot could be, and Mr. Dog had so much perfumery on his handkerchief that they had to open the front door to air off. Mr. Dog began to do things with his tools at once, while gnawing ever and anon at his wonderful bone, and Mr. Bear ate a piece of blueberry pie that was big enough to give him seven kinds of nightmare, but didn’t.

Then Mr. Bear drew up his big rocking-chair to the fire, while Mr. Dog threw himself down on the rug in front of it and stretched out to enjoy the blaze with his paws clasped under his head. And they both said there had never been such a Christmas and that it was the greatest fun having it that way, all alone. I suppose they meant not having the forest and the farm people there; and perhaps this is a good place and time for you and me to leave them, too.