BONY, THE BEAR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 2, 10 January 1891, Page 19

BONY, THE BEAR.

Not a very long time ago I got a letter from a little boy. The little boy’s mamma wrote the letter, but she wrote iust what the little boy told her to write, and this is what the letter satu : ‘ If you please, won’t you tell some of the stories for little boys, and not all of them for little girls, because I like ’em about bears best, and monkeys and wild elephants, and some about going fishing. ’ So this is a true story of a bear. He was a performing bear, and his coat, which had once been black, was ragged, and faded to a rusty brown. His name was Napoleon Bonaparte, and all through the long, hot summer days he went tramping about from village to village with a hand-organ and a man and a little girl. The man played the organ, and the little girl, whose name was Lizette, shook her tambourine, and the bear danced and presented arms, and went through with his broom drill, and all his droll tricks a good many times in a day—so many times that it was no wonder that the three got very tired of it all. Some days they reaped a rich harvest of pennies, and some other days when everything seemed out of joint they tramped long distances without getting a pleasant word or the smallest gift of money. It was at such times that Lisette’s black eves would grow big and wistful, and her father’s face would wear a scowl, and Bony, the bear, would tug restlessly at his chain, as if he knew that things were not going just as they should, and as if he were longing for the shady forests and a taste of freedom. Then the father would give his chain into Lisette’s wee brown hand, because Bony would always mind Lisette’s voice, and follow where she led. They were such good friends—the big black bear and the little brown girl; at night she often slept with her curly head resting on his shaggy coat. But times were not often so hard. One day the three came to a little village between two hills where very few hand-organs, and never a dancing bear had found the way before. And when Bony came with Lisette and her father and the tambourine and the hand-organ, the children all flocked to see, and the fathers and mothers came to look after the children. So Bony, feeling the cheering prospect, danced as he hadn’t danced for a long, long time ; and Lisette shook her tam bo mine with a great deal of spirit ; and her father turned the organ-crank vigorously ; and just as Bony with his wooden musket was presenting arms in his very best style, a dreadful cry was raised : ‘ The dog is mad ! M-a-ad do-og ! Clear the way !’ Lisette’s father was collecting pennies. The little crowd farted and scattered here and there, until in less time than can tell you of it, little Lisette and Bony, the bear, stood all alone in the midst of the grassy village square—all alone, with a great savage dog, almost as big as Bony himself, coming upon them. Bony dropped his musket and Lisette crept close to him as he stood upon his haunches straight as a soldier. And when the dog sprang with a fierce snarl at Bony’s throat, the old bear caught him in a mighty squeeze ; and he hugged him tighter and tighter ; and the people cheered. And Lisette’s father shouted, * Run Lisette !’ But she did not. It was over in a minute, and of course Bony—brave old Bony—had the best of it. He had hardlv a scratch to show for his battle, either, thanks to the thick leather collar about his neck. And of course, too, Bony was praised and Lisette was petted, and they were all treated so kindly that they haven’t gone away from the little village between the hills yet; neither Lisette nor her father nor Bony, the bear. I saw Bony last summer while 1 was staying in that little village, and he licked my hand with his rough tongue, and seemed very well pleased with his new home in the innkeeper’s orchard, where every day Lisette comes to play with him for a while.