All the rest of the afternoon poor Cuffy had to stay
there in the water. For the bees did not leave
him until sundown. And then, when the last one
had gone, Cuffy crawled out of the brook and started
toward home. His little round body and his sturdy
little legs were not warm now, as they had been when
he sat down beneath the tree to get cool. For
the mountain brook was ice-cold; and Cuffy felt quite
numb from standing in it so long. But cold as
he was, his face felt like fire. And for some
reason, which Cuffy couldn’t understand, he could
hardly see to pick his way through the shadows of
the forest.
CUFFY FRIGHTENS HIS MOTHER
When Cuffy Bear reached home, after his adventure
with the bees, he found that his father and mother
and his sister Silkie were just sitting down to their
evening meal. Cuffy didn’t speak to them
as he came into the room where they were. He
felt too miserable to say a word, with his face aching
and burning, and a terrible smarting in his eyes.
So he just stumbled inside the room and tried to make
himself as small as he could, so he wouldn’t
be noticed.
Cuffy’s parents and his little sister all looked
at the little bear who had come into their house without
even a knock. And his father said, in a cross
voice—
“Go away, little bear. Where are your manners?”
Cuffy didn’t know what to make of that.
He didn’t know what his father meant. So
he just stood there and stared.
“What do you want?” his father asked him.
“Whose little bear are you? And whatever
is the matter with your face?”
Actually, Cuffy’s own father didn’t know
him. And neither did his mother or his sister.
You see, Cuffy’s face was so swollen from the
bees’ stings that his face did not look like
a little bear’s face at all. His nose,
instead of being smooth and pointed, was one great
lump. And he hadn’t a sign of an eye—just
two slits.
“What’s the matter with you?” Mr.
Bear asked again. “Are you ill? Have
you the black measles?”
At that, Mrs. Bear rose hastily from the table and
snatched Silkie up from her high-chair and took her
right out of the room. The thought of black measles
frightened Mrs. Bear. You know, they are ever
so much worse than plain measles. And
she was afraid Silkie would catch them.
Well, poor Cuffy felt more miserable than ever.
He saw that his own family didn’t know him.
And he wondered what was going to become of him.
Then, when his father told him very sternly to leave
his house at once, Cuffy began to cry.
“Oh! oh! oh!” he sobbed. “It’s
me—it’s only me!” he cried.
That very morning, at breakfast, his father had told
him to say “It is I,” instead of “It
is me.” But Cuffy forgot all about
that, now.
“What! Are you my Cuffy?” his father
exclaimed. For he knew Cuffy at last. You
see, the bees hadn’t stung Cuffy’s voice.
And in no time at all Cuffy was tucked into his little
bed and his mother was gently licking his poor, aching
face with her tongue. Among bears that is thought
to be the very best thing to do for bee-stings.
