It was agreed by all hands at the next meeting, that Bruin must tell the story.

“You have not told a story for a long, long time, Bruin,” said Toto,—“not since we began to meet here; and Granny wants to hear one of your stories; don’t you, Granny?”

“Indeed,” said the grandmother, “I should like very much to hear one of Mr. Bruin’s stories. I am told they are very delightful.”

Mr. Bruin bowed in his peculiar fashion, and murmured something which sounded like “How-wow-mumberygrubble.”

The old lady knew, however, that it was meant for “Thank you, ma’am,” and took the will for the deed.

Bruin sucked his paw thoughtfully for a few minutes; then, raising his head with an air of 150 inspiration,—“Pigeon Pretty,” he asked, “what kind of a bear was that in your story?”

“Really, Bruin, I do not know,” replied the wood-pigeon. “It said ‘a bear,’ that was all.”

“You see,” continued Bruin, “there are so many kinds of bears,—black, brown, cinnamon, grizzly, polar,—really, there is no end to them. I thought, however, that this might possibly have been the Lost Prince of the Poles.”

Here Bruin paused a moment and looked about.

“The Lost Prince of the Poles!” exclaimed Toto. “What a fine name for a story! Tell us now, Bruin; tell us all about him.”

“Listen, then,” said the bear, “and you shall hear about

THE LOST PRINCE OF THE POLES.

The polar bears, as you probably know, are a large and powerful nation. They are governed by a king, who is called the Solar-Polarity of the Hypopeppercorns.

“Oh!” cried Toto. “What does that mean?”

Nobody knows what it means. That is the great charm of the title. Gives it majesty, you understand. The present Solar-Polarity is, I am told, quite worthy of his title, for he is very majestic, and knows absolutely nothing. He sits on the top of the North Pole, and directs the movement of the icebergs.

At the time of which I am going to tell you, which was so long ago as to be no particular time at all, the Solar-Polarity had an only son,—a most promising young bear,—the heir to the kingdom. He was brought up with the greatest care possible, and when he had arrived at a suitable age, his father begged him to choose a mate among the youngest and fairest of the she-bears, or, as they are more elegantly termed, bearesses. To the amazement of the Solar-Polarity, the Prince flatly refused.

“I will not marry one of these cold, white creatures!” he said; “I am tired of white. I want to marry one of those things;” and he pointed to the north, where the Northern Lights 152 were shooting up in long streamers of crimson and green and purple.

“One of those things!” cried his father. “My dear son, are you mad? Those are Rory-Bories; they are not the sort of thing one can marry. It’s—it’s ridiculous to think of such a thing.”

“Well,” said the Prince, “then I will marry the creature that is most like them. There must be some creature that has those pretty colors. I will go and ask the Principal Whale.”

So he went and asked the Principal Whale if he knew any creature that was colored like the Rory-Bories.

“Frankly,” said the whale, “I do not. Doubtless there are such, but I have never happened to meet any of them. I will tell you what I will do, however,” he said, seeing the Prince’s look of disappointment. “I am just starting on a voyage to the Southern seas; and if you like I will take you with me, and you can look about you and decide for yourself.”

The young bear was delighted with this proposition, 153 and proceeded at once to assume the full-dress costume of the polar bears, which consists in tying three knots in the tail.

“A—excuse me!” interrupted the raccoon, “I thought no bears had any tails to speak of;” and he glanced complacently at his own magnificent tail, which was curled round his feet.

They have none to speak of; which makes it all the more remarkable for them to be able to 154 tie three knots in them. As soon as this was accomplished, the Prince declared that he was ready to start.

“So am I,” said the Principal Whale. And taking the Prince of the Poles on his back, he sailed away for the Southern seas.

They went on and on for several days without any adventures; till one day the young bear saw a huge jelly-fish floating towards them. “See!” he cried, “there is a lovely creature, as bright and beautiful as the Rory-Bories. Surely this is the creature for me to marry!”

“I don’t think you would like to marry that,” said the whale. “That is a jelly-fish. But we will go and speak to it, and you can judge for yourself.” So the whale swam up to the jelly-fish, who looked at them, but said nothing.

“My dear,” said the Prince, “you are very beautiful.”

“Yah!” said the jelly-fish (who was in reality extremely ignorant, and had never gone to dancing-school), “that’s more than I can say for you!”

“I am sorry to hear you say that,” said the Prince, mildly.

“Will you marry me, and be Princess of the Poles?”

“Marry your grandmother!” replied the jelly-fish in a very rude manner; and off it flounced under the water.

The young bear looked sadly after it. “It was very pretty,” he said; “why did it want me to marry my grandmother?”

“It didn’t,” replied the whale. “That was only its way of speaking. An unmannerly minx! Don’t think any more about it,” and they continued their voyage.

A couple of days after this they met the swordfish and his daughter.

“These are some friends of mine,” said the Principal Whale. “We will see if they can aid us in our search.”

The swordfish greeted them kindly, and invited them to come down and make him a visit.

“Thank you,” said the whale. “We have 156 not time to stop now. We are in search of a creature as bright in color as the Rory-Bories. My young friend here, the Prince of the Poles, is anxious to marry such a creature, if he can only find her.”

But the swordfish shook his head, and said he could not think of any one who would answer the description.

“I will marry you if you wish,” said the swordfish’s daughter, who was much struck by the appearance of the young bear. “I am considered very agreeable, and I think I could make you happy.”

“But you are not bright,” cried the poor Prince in distress. “You are even black, saving your presence. I don’t wish to hurt your feelings, but really you are not at all the sort of creature I was looking for; though I have no doubt,” he added, “that you are extremely agreeable.”

“You might play I was a Rory-Bory behind a cloud on a dark night,” suggested the swordfish’s daughter.

But the Prince did not think that would do, and the whale agreed with him. “One cannot play,” he said, “when one is married.” Accordingly they bade a friendly farewell to the swordfish and his daughter, and continued their voyage.

After several days they saw in the distance the coast of Africa. As they approached it, the Prince saw something bright on the land, near the edge of the water. “See!” he cried, “there is something very bright and beautiful. Let us go nearer, and see what it is.” So they went nearer, and saw a long line of scarlet flamingoes, drawn up on the beach like a company of soldiers.

“Prince,” said the Principal Whale, “your journey has not been in vain. I really think these are the creatures you have been looking for.”

As he spoke, the flamingoes, who had caught sight of the strange creatures approaching the shore, rose into the air, with a great flapping of wings, and flew slowly away.

The Prince was in ecstasies. “Oh, Whale!” 158 he cried, “these are Rory-Bories, real live Rory-Bories! See how they shoot up, like long streamers! See how they glow and shine! One still remains on the shore, the loveliest of all. She is my bride! She is the Princess of the Poles! Swim close to the shore, good Whale!”

The whale swam up to the shore, the water being fortunately deep enough to allow him to do so, and the bear addressed the solitary flamingo, which still stood upon the beach, watching them with great curiosity. This was, in fact, the Princess of the Flamingoes; and besides being rather curious by nature, she thought it would be beneath her dignity to fly away just because some strange creatures were approaching. So she stood still, in an attitude of royal ease.

“Lovely creature!” said the Prince, “tell me, oh, tell me, are you really and truly a Rory-Bory? I am sure you must be, from your brilliant and exquisite beauty.”

“Not quite,” answered the flamingo. “Not quite the same thing, though very nearly. I am a 159 flamingo, and the Rory-Bory is a flaming go; pronounced differently, you perceive. That is the principal difference between the two families, though there are some other minor variations, which may be caused by the climate. What is your pleasure with me, and what might you happen to be?”

“My pleasure is to marry you!” exclaimed the young bear rapturously. “I am a white bear, and am called the Prince of the Poles. After my father’s death I shall become Solar-Polarity of the Hypopeppercorns. Will you be my bride, and reign with me as queen? You shall sit upon the North Pole, and direct the movements of the icebergs.”

The flamingo closed one eye, and drew up one leg in an attitude of graceful and maidenly coyness. “Your manners and bearing interest me much,” she said after a pause; “and I should be glad to do as you suggest, but I fear it is impossible. We are not allowed to marry any one with more than two legs; and you, I perceive, have four.”

The poor Prince was quite staggered by this remark, for he was proud of his legs, which, though short, were finely formed. He was silent in dismay. But now the Principal Whale interposed. “Would it not be possible to make an exception in this case?” he asked. “My young friend has come a very long way in search of you, and has quite set his heart on this marriage.”

“Alas!” said the flamingo, “I fear not. It is the first law in the kingdom, and I dare not break it.”

“What shall I do, then?” cried the Prince in despair. “If I cannot have you, I will go back and marry the swordfish’s daughter, and you would be sorry to have me do that if you knew how ugly she was.”

“In difficult cases,” said the flamingo, “we always consult the hippopotamouse. I should advise you to do the same.”

“The hippopotamouse?” exclaimed the Prince. “Where is he to be found? Tell me, that I may fly to him at once.”

“He lives in the middle of the central plain of Pongolia,” replied the flamingo.

“In that case,” said the Principal Whale, “I must leave you, my Prince, as travelling on land is one of the pleasures I must deny myself, being constitutionally unfitted for it.”

The Prince thanked the whale warmly for his kindness, and after taking a most affecting leave of the Flamingo Princess, he set off for the central plain of Pongolia.

He travelled night and day, and after many days he arrived at the very middle of the plain. There he found the hippopotamouse, sitting in the middle of a river, nibbling a huge cheese.

This singular animal combined all the chief qualities of a hippopotamus and a mouse. His appearance was truly astonishing, and filled the mind of the Prince with mingled feelings. He stood for some time gazing at him in silent amazement.

Presently the hippopotamouse looked up sharply. “Well,” he said, “what do you want? Do you think I am pretty?”

“N-no!” replied the young bear. “You may be good; but I don’t think you are pretty. I want,” he continued, “to marry the Flamingo Princess. I am the Prince of the Poles, son of the Solar-Polarity of the Hypopeppercorns. You may have heard of my father.”

“Oh! ah! yes!” said the hippopotamouse. “I’ve heard of him. Well, why don’t you marry her?”

“Because I have four legs,” answered the Prince sadly; “and it is against the law for a flamingo to marry any one with more than two.”

“True. I had forgotten that,” said the hippopotamouse.

“Can you suggest any way out of the difficulty?” inquired the Prince.

Without making any reply, the hippopotamouse plunged into meditation and the cheese at the same moment, and nibbled and meditated in silence for several hours; while the unhappy Prince stood first on one leg, and then on the other, endeavoring in vain to conceal his impatience. 163 Finally, when he was quite exhausted with waiting, the hippopotamouse took his head out of the cheese.

“My young friend,” he said, “I see but one way out of the difficulty, and that is for you to walk about on two of your legs until they are worn out. Then, you perceive, you will have, unless my calculations have misled me, exactly two left,—the proper number to enable you legally to marry the Flamingo Princess. You may find this fatiguing,” he continued, seeing the Prince’s look of dismay; “but really I can see 164 nothing else for you to do; and when you reflect that everything is more or less fatiguing, and that I have worn out five complete sets of teeth on this very cheese, you may become reconciled to your lot. Good-by. I wish you well.” And without more ado, he plunged into the cheese once more.

The unhappy Prince uttered one wild howl, and turning away, fled into the savage wilds of the Pongolian forest.

---

Here Bruin paused, shook his head, and sighed deeply.

“Oh! go on, Bruin,” cried Toto eagerly. “How can you stop there? Go on immediately, and tell us the rest!”

Alas! there is little more to tell; for from that moment the Prince of the Poles has never been seen or heard of.

The Flamingo Princess waited long and anxiously for his return; but he never came. I believe she finally married an ostrich, who led her a terrible life.

The Principal Whale called at the coast of Africa on his way back from the Southern seas, and hearing the sad intelligence of the Prince’s disappearance, departed in great sadness for his Northern home, to break the news to the Solar-Polarity of the Hypopeppercorns. When that potentate heard of the disappearance of his son, he fell off the North Pole, and broke his neck; and the whole nation assumed the mourning costume of the polar bears, which consists in tying a sailor’s knot in the left ear, and a granny’s knot in the right.

And thus ends, in sadness and despair, the story of “The Lost Prince of the Poles.”