Read Ebook: The Laughing Bear and Other Stories by Bell Robert Bloomer Hare Howard Eleanor Illustrator

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Ebook has 400 lines and 19333 words, and 8 pages

Now Polly was not so sure that she liked the witch after all; in fact, she wished that she would go away and leave them alone. In a moment the woman changed to an ugly creature again. Polly started to run away but the witch caught her up in her arms and hugged her close, and when she was through the witch again became the lovely creature that she had been a few moments ago.

"Now you must not think wicked thoughts," said she; "if you do, I shall have to remain ugly. If you only knew how it hurts to be ugly I believe you would try to be good, if only for my sake."

"Please, mother," pleaded the child, "if you forgive me this time I shall always be good because I want to, both for your sake and because I wish to be good. I am very much ashamed of myself."

Polly threw her arms around the good mother and hugged her. From that hour, they became friends. And sitting down on the grass the good woman explained the working of the tower.

"That spire," she said, "reaches to heaven and has millions and millions of disks on its sides. These instruments are the sound-receivers of the whole world. Every sound is magnified and made sweeter by the condensers. Every prayer, every song, and every musical note is caught here and made clearer and stronger. Every good deed done is praised and every kind word reechoed."

"Did you say," inquired the girl, "that every angry word or wicked prayer is retold on these bells? That would be terrible!" Polly was thinking of her own naughty thoughts.

"Yes, my dear," answered the woman, "everything is heard here. But the strange thing about the bells is that a wicked thing is a thousand times reduced. These disks repeat everything good that is said and throw it back to the poor old world to brighten the speaker and the world itself. Good thoughts, too, are reflected and sent to earth again to gladden human beings. Wicked things are detected and examined, but only good things are sent to earth again."

Then the woman led the children a short distance from the tower and asked them to listen.

"Oh! Oh!" screamed Polly, "I heard a bad word."

"Yes," explained the woman, "you heard that word before it reached the bells; but if you were to listen, it would be so changed that you would not recognize it. But let us go and see other things about the great steeple."

She led them to the base of the building and showed them a queer-looking register that worked like a modern adding machine. A ribbon continually ran out of one end and was rolled on a big spool.

"This," explained the guide, "records every deed done by everybody in the world. It is connected with the disks and never gets out of tune."

They examined the machine, and saw millions and millions of spools slowly rolling as the minutes passed. There was a spool for each individual that ever lived on earth. At every one's death his spool was laid away in the great tower above.

"Isn't it wonderful?" exclaimed Polly. "I should like to see my spool, dear mother."

The woman took the girl to the back of the machine and showed her her own life-spool. The ribbon was very small, but the guide detached it and gave it to the child to read. As she unwound it, she read: "I wish that God would punish all the wicked people I know!" Polly dropped the spool and hid her face: these were her own words.

"Do not feel badly, dear Polly," whispered the mother, "and do not look now for any more bad records of yourself; but fill the rest of the spool with good words and good deeds, and in the end your record will be rewritten, made bright and clear." She then picked the girl up and held her to her breast, kissing her tenderly.

At this moment Polly heard the disks ring out: "Polly!" and she cried, "Goodie! Goodie!"

It was her mother calling her for breakfast. Polly sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, mamma--where is the mother witch? Where is Harry?"

Her mother looked puzzled at first, but she quickly realized that her little daughter had been dreaming. "I'll be the mother witch, my dear," she said, "and we will find Harry some day soon."

MR. ROOSTER

IN a certain back yard lives a colony of most interesting chickens. You could not imagine that feathered things would perform such capers as they do.

One fine morning, after Mrs. Black Hen had spent a restless night on the roost, she addressed Mrs. Brown Hen with these words:

"Do you know, Brownie, my husband snores, and I did not sleep a wink last night!"

"Just to think of that! A snoring husband is a dreadful thing," Brownie returned.

Brownie cackled all day from group to group about the snoring husband. The gossip grew as the day advanced till all the hens were cackling and exchanging winks and the rooster, thinking that the hens were laying an unusual number of eggs, crowed with great zest. This amused the hens very much, for, without knowing it, the rooster was making fun of himself. He would have been extremely angry had he known the truth. The poor hens cackled themselves into fits over the thing. It was so funny!

The cook of the house to which the back yard belonged at once thought that the poor creatures had "the gapes." Now the gapes is nearly always fatal, but sometimes death may be averted by an application of red pepper. No wonder the cook was mistaken, for by this time the hens were rolling, kicking and cackling. The rooster was sitting on the fence almost shouting his head off.

But when the cook ran out of the house and dosed every hen with Cayenne pepper, the surprised chickens sprang to their feet and rushed about madly. All the fun was gone. Some of them leaned against the coop and gasped for breath, while others rushed for the watering trough.

During the performance, the rooster flew to the highest place possible and screamed with delight, for he had at last gotten through his thick head that the joke had been on him, but was now on his wives.

Oh, but the hens were mad! That evening they crept to bed with tears in their little red eyes and vengeance in their small hearts. It had been agreed to watch the old fellow and see if it was true that he was a snorer. Not a hen slept that night.

All went as usual till about eleven o'clock, when suddenly the rooster opened his mouth and screamed, "Cock-a-doodle-doooo!"

This was not really snoring, as you easily see, but a natural burst of pride, praise and warning to keep the bogies away. Nevertheless, the hens in their bad temper were no judges of any matter, let alone snoring in the middle of the night. They nudged each other very wisely. They had caught him at last and there were twenty witnesses. One o'clock came and he repeated the same words. The hens were delighted, for they would have their innings in the morning.

When morning came, the hens openly twitted the rooster about his snoring. At first he paid little attention to their taunts, but as the day wore on he became very much exasperated. The hens kept their own quarters and refused to have anything to do with him, and he, manlike, was determined to be near them. Whenever he came into their "midst," as they chatted, they just left him there twiddling his fine wings. He was much enraged and gave chase to many of them. Sometimes he almost caught one; but when that was about to happen, the others pitched in and drove him off very much crestfallen. The hens were wise enough that day to stand together.

When all had retired as usual, the hens waited for the rooster to enter their coop. But he did not come. Some suggested that they should go in a body and compel his majesty to come home. He had never before remained out all night, as some husbands do! They had a hard time sleeping that night, for they greatly missed the rooster.

But the rooster sat all the while on the back fence vowing vengeance.

About three o'clock in the morning, when all was still, one of the hens felt a sharp pain in her breast. She wakened and scrambled to her feet, but was instantly dragged to the floor by a weasel. She screamed and struggled to escape. The other hens joined in the clatter. It was with the greatest difficulty that she escaped with her life.

The weasel fled when the noise became pronounced, for he was afraid of a human. The poor hen was terribly wounded. Not a wink of sleep had the hens the remainder of that night, and they were glad when the sun rose. They sought the rooster and told the hard-hearted fellow the awful story of the night raid, but he just opened his mouth and crowed with pleasure. They were indignant and walked off and left him to his laughs.

In the afternoon, when all was the quietest in Chickenville, the rooster joined his wives and talked very seriously about what had occurred. "Now," said he in conclusion, "this trouble has been brought about through gossip. You have had your fun and I have had mine. The best thing to do is to let bygones be bygones and all of us turn over a new leaf."

The hens unwillingly consented, for the sun was setting and they feared the night.

Since then Mr. Rooster has enjoyed great comfort, and whenever the hens begin to gossip he opens his red mouth and screeches "RED PEPPER!"

THE MID-EARTH PEOPLE

UNCLE Rupert, the children's friend, had just returned from a wonderful trip through the Orient and therefore had many startling things to tell to his nephews and nieces. He was such a famous story-teller that when he described anything the children actually thought they saw it happening.

On the sunny afternoon of Easter day, the children begged their uncle to take them to a park and tell them all about his trip. Uncle Rupert was quite willing, and fifteen minutes later a dozen boys and girls, accompanied by a big man, started on a street car to the park.

"I am not going to tell you anything now about my trip abroad," began Uncle Rupert when they reached their destination, "for this is Eastertide and I wish to talk about Easter!"

"Oh! Oh!" cried the whole crowd, "Please don't! Tell us something more interesting! We have had one sermon today, and it was--pretty dry."

Uncle Rupert smiled and, raising his head, began again: "I will let you be the judges as to the dullness of so-called 'moral' stories after we are through. If you are not satisfied, then I shall jump off this cliff!"

With this assurance, twelve eager bodies sat in silence waiting for him to begin.

"Are you all ready?" asked Uncle Rupert. "Then place your hands on your knees. Now, Tom, do not crowd Madge. That is the right way; heads up and eyes to the front. One, two, three and we are off."

"Here he is! See the little man? He is just coming out from a hole in the ground, opposite you."

The children looked and, to their amazement, saw a midget crawling from the earth. He was dressed in tight-fitting breeches of blue with stockings to match. Red shoes, with golden buckles, were on his feet, and hanging over his shoulders was a rich crimson cape, fastened about his throat with a pearl clasp. At his belt dangled a highly polished sword, and in his hand he carried a black plumed hat. Not a sign of a beard was on his face, and his hair hung in curls on his back. He looked as though he had stepped out of an old fashion plate.

The youngsters were too surprised to move or speak; they hardly dared to breathe, for fear that he would vanish. The stranger walked toward Uncle Rupert and bowed to him.

"Well, sir, who are you?" demanded the big uncle, "and what brings you here?"

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