One warm spring morning, near the town of A——, away off in the edge of the deep woods, a bear awoke from his long winter sleep, came out of his den under the roots of a great fallen tree, stretched his half-asleep limbs, opened wide his great mouth in a long, long yawn, and then all at once found that he was ravenously hungry; and no wonder! for he hadn’t had a mouthful to eat since he went to sleep for the winter, months before.

As soon as he was wide awake, and his legs began to feel natural, he started out to find something to eat. There were no berries in the woods yet, no green things that he liked to eat, and, in fact, there was a very poor prospect for breakfast.

Long he wandered about in the woods, finding nothing, and getting more hungry every minute; and at last he started for the few scattering houses of the village, where he had sometimes found food when it was scarce in the woods.

He didn’t like to go near the houses of men, for he generally got hurt when he did so; but he was by this time so very hungry that he almost forgot that all men were his enemies.

Shuffling quietly along on his soft-padded feet, he came to a little house standing all by itself in the edge of the woods. All was quiet about it, except a curious sort of humming noise, which may have reminded him of bees and honey that he liked so well.

Nearer and nearer he came, snuffing the breeze as he came, till he reached the open door of the little house. Into this he thrust his great head, and surely now he smelled something to eat.

It was a schoolhouse, though he didn’t know it.

At this moment a little girl looked up from her book, and a wild scream rent the air.

“There’s a bear coming in!” she cried.

Instantly all was confusion; books were dropped, school was forgotten, screams and shouts filled the air, while the teacher—a stranger in that wild country—turned white.

Some of the bigger boys ran towards the door, shouting and waving their arms to frighten the great beast away, but he had smelled the dinner baskets, ranged in the passageway, and he was far too hungry to mind the shouting of boys. The next moment he was fairly in the passage, and there was nothing to prevent his coming into the schoolroom.

Now there is a very wrong impression abroad about bears. Most people—especially children—think that a bear is always roaming around seeking some one to devour; while the truth is that, unless madly hungry or badly treated, a bear will always avoid a human being. In fact, hunters call them cowardly, though a more truthful word would be peaceable. In that schoolroom, however, a bear was the greatest terror in the world.

There was nothing in the way of a door to keep him out of the room, but there was a great attraction for him in the doughnuts and pieces of pie and cake and apples and other good things he smelled in the dinner baskets, and he set at once to turning over the contents, and eating whatever pleased his fancy.

After her momentary faintness, Miss Brown—the young teacher—roused herself to see what could be done to protect her charges. There was no door between the room and the passage, though there was a suitable opening for one. Glancing around the room, she saw but one thing to do,—to barricade that opening.

Trying to quiet the screams and tears of the children huddled around her, she spoke hurriedly to the biggest boys.

“Boys, we must barricade the doorway while he is busy with the baskets. Bring up the benches as quick as you can!”

All fell to work, and soon benches were piled from the floor to the top of the doorway; but they were so unsteady that one could see that one good push of the big fellow would throw them all down.

“More!” said Miss Brown; “we must brace these up.”

So other benches were placed against them in a way to brace them, and when all in the room were used, a tolerably steady wall was made, though of course there were plenty of openings between the benches through which they could see and be seen.

“If he tries to push them down,” said Miss Brown with white lips, “we must all throw ourselves against these braces to keep them firm. I think we can keep him till help comes.”

The question of help was a serious one. The schoolhouse was placed on the edge of a bluff where the ground dropped suddenly many feet, and strangely enough, all the windows were on that side, so that no one could climb out of a window, and, what was worse, those inside could not attract attention if any one should pass. The windows looked only into the deep woods.

All this became plain to Miss Brown, as she looked around to see what were their chances of escape. The only hope was that the bear would get enough to eat and go out of his own accord. In this hope she calmed down, and tried to reduce her pupils to order.

Order, however, was not to be thought of. To the terror of the children was soon added their dismay at the havoc the bear was making. One after another basket was turned over and its contents rolled out on the floor, while he contentedly feasted himself on the food. The children could not take their eyes from him, and every time he turned his eyes towards them, they screamed and tried to hide behind Miss Brown.

When at last Bruin had emptied the baskets, and evidently filled himself with the good country lunches, he prepared to take a nap, and rolling his great body over in the small space he hit the open door, and, to the horror of Miss Brown, pushed it shut with a bang that latched it, and made him a prisoner as well as themselves!

Now indeed the stoutest heart turned weak.

“Good Heavens, boys!” said Miss Brown to the two or three older pupils, “what can we do?”

“I don’t see as we can do anything except keep him out of here till men come to look for us,” said the oldest boy, who was about fourteen, and used to the ways of the country.

“And that won’t be,” said Miss Brown, “till they are alarmed because we don’t get home.”

“Yes,” said the boy; “not before five or six o’clock. We’re often that late getting home.”

This was a dreary prospect, indeed, and wails and cries began again to fill the room. Miss Brown saw that she must rouse herself and quell the panic before it got beyond bounds.

She thought quickly, then said, quietly as she could, though her voice trembled at first:—

“Children, shall I tell you a story?”

Story is a magic word to a child, and in a moment the smaller ones were camped down on the floor around her—having no benches to sit on—while Miss Brown racked her brain to think of stirring incidents to keep them interested.

Story after story fell from her lips; lunch time came—but there were no lunches. Miss Brown struggled on; words came slowly,—her lips and throat were dry,—she sipped a little water and struggled on.

All sorts of possible and impossible adventures she related; she told strange facts of history with the wildest fancies of romance-makers; fairies and pirates, and queens and beggar girls, in one mad medley. She never in after years could recall anything that passed her lips in those terrible hours.

Some of the smaller children, worn out with crying, fell asleep, and as the hours passed and twilight stole over the world, hope began to revive; surely the fathers of the village must come to seek their children.

The bear still slept, but they dared not make much noise for fear of arousing him. Twilight deepened and night came on,—still no rescue.

Men were out seeking them; all the village, in fact, but when they tried the schoolhouse door and could not open it, they concluded that school had been dismissed, and turned away to search the woods,—the constant terror of the village parents.

Happily the little party of prisoners in the schoolroom did not know this, or they would have despaired.

A search was started in the woods; lanterns flashed through all the paths and byways between the trees; men called, and women silently cried, but of course no trace of the lost was found.

All night this was kept up, while, on the floor of the schoolroom, all but the two or three older ones, with the completely exhausted teacher, slept in what comfortless attitude they might.

Towards morning a bright thought came to Miss Brown. “They must think we have left the schoolhouse,” she thought; “and we must contrive to let them know where we are. When the bear wakes up he will be hungry again,”—with a shudder. Then the bright thought came, “Let us make a fire in the stove; the smoke will be a sign.”

There was no wood, of course, it being too warm for a fire; but there were some papers and, if need be, books—and it was the first breath of hope.

“But is there a match in the house?” was the appalling thought that paralyzed her. She asked the boys. One thought he had some, and after emptying his pockets of the miscellaneous collection that usually fills a boy’s pocket, succeeded in fishing out two worn and draggled-looking matches which looked doubtful about lighting.

Miss Brown took them carefully, prepared some torn paper, and drew a match across the stove; it sputtered—and flashed—and went out. A cry of horror escaped her lips as, sheltering it in her hand, she tried the second. It burned and the paper was lighted, and in a moment the stove was in a glow.

“Miss Brown,” whispered one of the older scholars, “I’ve heard of bears being driven off by fire; we might light a stick and try it, if he wakes up,” nodding towards the still sleeping Bruin.

“Thank you—that is worth thinking of,” said Miss Brown.

Now the smoke began to pour out of the chimney, and one of the tired men who had been wandering the woods all night saw it.

He uttered a shout, “They’re in the schoolhouse!”

Soon fifty men, on their way home in despair at finding no trace, were about him.

“But the door is locked,” said one man. “I tried that the first thing.”

“Well, somebody is there!” said one; “and we better break the door in, and see who it is.”

They went to the door and knocked, and then pounded, while those inside shouted and cried. At last they were heard, and, coming as near the back windows as they could get, they asked the reason of this strange performance.

“I say!” began the man standing on the edge of the bluff, “who’s in there?”

“We’re all in here,” was the answer; “and we can’t get out because a big bear is in the passageway.”

“Why did you lock the door?” was the next question.

“We didn’t. The bear rolled against it. He’s there now. You can’t open it.”

The good news was quickly carried to the waiting men, and an effort was made to burst in the door, several of the men being provided with guns for their night in the woods.

But Bruin was too heavy for the united efforts, and at last they decided to shoot through the door.

Calling directions to those inside to go close to the wall on the north side so as not to be in danger from any stray bullet, the men began shooting through the door.

It was not long before the bear found it too hot for comfort, and slowly rose to his feet and started for the barricade of benches, now left without a guard.

At that instant the door yielded and burst open, and men and shots and bear and baskets and all came in a mad medley together.

Poor Bruin’s troubles were soon over; he paid for his breakfast with his life.

When all was ended, and the men had a chance to look around and see the barricade, and turned to thank Miss Brown for her heroism in protecting the children, she was found in a dead faint on the floor.

It was weeks before she recovered her strength and her voice, after that terrible night, and the schoolroom—put in fresh order, with a door between it and the passage, a window cut through the side of the building, and a big dinner bell provided to ring when help was needed—was opened again for study.

As her mother paused, Kristy drew a deep sigh. “I’m so glad it ended well; I love to have stories end well.”

“Well,” said her mother, looking at the clock, “I’ll tell you one more that I think ends very well indeed, for it taught—but”—she interrupted herself,—“I won’t tell you the end before the beginning; you shall decide whether it ends well.”