“Wow!” cried Ski, leaping back when he saw the Plush Bear beginning to move.

“Wow!” cried Ski’s father, mother and sisters and brothers, and they, too, leaped back.

“Gurr-r-r-r!  Gurr-r-r-r!” growled the Plush Bear, and he moved his paws and head faster than ever.  He was not doing this himself, you understand.  He was not making believe come to life.  He was only doing as all the other spring toys do—­moving when the wheels within him moved.

“Wow!” cried Ski’s father again.  “This is magic!  This bear is bewitched!  It will bring us bad luck!  It must not stay in my igloo!”

“Oh, please let me keep it!” begged Ski, as his father caught up the Plush Bear.

“No!  No!  It would be dangerous!  It would bring us bad luck!  There is a witch in that bear!” murmured Ski’s mother.

“Never have I seen such a thing!” went on Ski’s father in awe and wonder.  “We must not keep it!  If we allowed it to stay in this igloo we should freeze, I should never catch any seals, and our blubber fat would become so hard we could not eat it.  I must take this magic bear that moves back to the big igloo!”

So, though Ski begged his father to be allowed to keep the toy, the Eskimo man thrust the bear under his fur coat and crawled out of the igloo into the glow of the Northern Lights.

“I must take it back to the big igloo,” murmured Ski’s father.  “Then will the bad magic pass away.”

You see he did not know, never having seen such a toy before, and never having heard of machinery—­Ski’s father did not know what a delightful toy the Plush Bear was.  All he thought of was bad luck and magic.

Quickly Ski’s father hitched his team of dogs to the long, low wooden sled.

Crack! went the long whip over their heads, but the Eskimo man did not let the lash fall on the animals.

Over the snow and ice they drew the sled, on which Ski’s father sat well wrapped in fur blankets.  Nearer they came to the workshop of Santa Claus—­the “big igloo” as Ski had called it.

“I will leave the magic bear that moves beneath one of the windows,” murmured Ski’s father.  “Then will the bad luck pass from us.”

He guided his dog team up under the very window out of which Ski had taken the bear, for the man could see Ski’s footprints in the snow.

“There!  Now I am done with you!” whispered Ski’s father, as he dropped the Plush Bear in the snow and turned his dog team around to go back to his igloo.

As for the Plush Bear, his head moved, he growled, and his paws waved to and fro as long as the spring was wound up.  But when it ran down, as it did in a little while, he was motionless.  Except that now, as no one could see him, he was allowed to make believe come to life and could do as he pleased.

“Well, this is certainly a fine state of affairs!” said the Plush Bear to himself, speaking out loud, as there were no human ears to hear.  “Taken away to an ice house, scaring an Eskimo family half to death, and then to be brought back here and dumped in a snow bank!  It’s a good thing I have on a warm plush coat, or I’d surely freeze!  I wonder if I can get back into the shop?”