A Christmas For Bears
There was a bear who did not believe in Santa Claus, or in Christmas either. Each year, at the first sign of cold weather, he would curl up in his cave and sleep until spring. Naturally, he did not believe in Christmas.
This year, however, he could not get to sleep. There was a cold draft through his cave. Sharp rocks on the floor stuck up through his bedding. His back itched where e could not get at it.
At last, he staggered to his feet and shook the stiffness out of his joints. Since he could not sleep, he would go out and see for himself that there was no Santa Claus and no Christmas. So he came out of his cave and sniffed the cold wing. There was snow and ice everywhere. "What a climate!" he grumbled.
While he was trying to decide which way he should go, he heard a loud whirring overhead. "Helicopter?" he adked himself. "Four motor transport? Mail plane?"
The whirr changed to a wheeze; the wheeze became a rattle. There was a loud thump, off in the woods.
"Wreck!" shouted the bear. "I must help them!" And off he lumbered.
It was not a helicpter, nor a four-motor transport, nor even a mail plane. It was not an airplane at all. When the bear reached the spot, puffing because he had run so hard, he saw only an old-fashioned sleigh on it's side, with bundles scattered in the snow all around it. A stout gentleman with white whiskers was yelling and jumping up and down in the snow.
"My," thought the bear, "he certainly does seem upset. I wonder who he is."
"Vixen!" shouted the stout gentleman. "Blitzen!"
Then the stout gentleman saw the bear. "So!" he said accusingly. "A bear, right out in the open at Christmas time. No wonder my reindeer got scared and ran away!"
"I'm sorry," the bear apologized. "I didn't mean ny harm. I just couldn't sleep."
The stout gentleman patted the bear's head. "Don't feel bad," he said in a kindly tone. "We all have our off days. Only, I wish it hadn't happened right in the middle of the rush season."
"But I do feel bad about it," insisted the bear. "Isn't there anything I can do?"
The stout gentleman started to shake his head. Then he gazed thoughtfuly at the bear. "Maybe," he said, tapping his nose. "Would you really help me?"
"Of course!" exclaimed the bear.
First they got the sleigh back on it's runners. Then they loaded all the bundles onto it.
"Now what?" asked the bear. "Shall I chase your reindeer back?"
"No!" said the stout gentleman hastily. "They can find their way home alone. I want you to take their place and help me with my deliveries."
The bear was shocked. "No!" he shouted. "I'm no horse."
The stout gentleman sighed. "Lots of good children," he said, "are goig to be disappointed."
"Oh, all right!" said the bear crossly. He placed himself between the shafts of the sleigh. "Hitch me up."
"You're a good bear!" said the stout gentleman, fastening the lines aroun the bear's shoulders. Then, "Giddyap!" he called, and they were off.
"Hey!" shouted the bear over his shoulder. "I'm up in the air. I'm flying!"
"Of course you are," replied the stout gentleman. "We have a lot of calls to make, and you can't cover the territory by staying on the ground."
They made call after call, landing each time on the roof of the house. At every house the stout gentleman would swing a huge pack onto his back from the sleigh; then, quick as a flash, he would slide down the chimney. He did this so rapidly that the bear could not see how he did it, nor did he have the least idea who the stout gentleman was.
At last, as the sky began to lighten in the east, they made their last cal. The bear sighed gratefully. Now, he was tired enough to sleep the rest of the winter.
The stout gentleman stuck his head up out of this last chimney and beckoned to the bear.
"Come with me," he said. "I want to show you something."
"I'm too fat to get down the chimney," objected the bear. But before he knew it he was down, standing beside the stout gentleman in a small bedroom.
In one corner of the room were two children sound asleep in a bed. In another was a pine tree festooned with popcorn and bright colored bulbs. Underneah were piles of toys: skates, and dolls, and picture books.
"These children would not have had a Christmas tree or any gifts if it hadn't been for you," said the stout getleman. "You're a good bear, a noble and unselfish bear."
The bear wriggled and sighed. He didn't uderstand this talk about Christmas trees any more that the talk about Santa Claus.
In a few moments, they were outdoors again. The stout gentleman patted the bear's shoulder gratefully and said good-bye.
The bear was so tired he could hardly crawl back into his cave. This time, he did not notice any sharp rocks or cold drafts. Before you could say "Merry Christmas," he was sound asleep.
And then suddenl he woke up, with the warm spring sun pouring in on him. It was time to get up.
"What a curious dream!" he muttered, staggering to his feet.
Then he turned his head and saw it. It wasn't a dream at all. It was a Christmas tree for bears.
On the trunk was a large comb of honey. Arranged around the base of the tree were a dozen or so fine, fat salmon, lying on chopped ice so that they would stay fresh. The branches of the tree were laden with bright lights, and between the lights hung festoons of wonderful roasted peanuts. There was even a long-handled back scratcher, leaning against a branch.
There was a note on white paper with a green border. The red lettering on the note read:
To my best friend, the bear, who helped me bring a Merry Christmas to all the children. With most heartfelt best wishes, Santa Claus.
"SANTA CLAUS!!" exclaimed the bear. "So there really is a Santa Claus, and a Christmas"-- he dipped his paw into the comb of honey-- "for bears."
Author: Ray St. Clair
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