by Algernon Blackwood (1928)

Nick, with the red hair, had been naughty. How naughty is not known, but it must have been pretty bad, for the governess called him "Nicholas," and sent him to his room for the rest of the afternoon. Instead of going out to play in the sunshine he was to stay indoors alone. She locked him in too. He heard her footsteps going down the passage. They died away. Downstairs, in the depth of the silent house, they presently ceased altogether. He was alone. He began to look about him.

The room he was locked up in was not really his own bedroom, it was a box-room. Boxes of every sort and kind stood piled up against the walls. In the slanting roof was a large skylight window that let the light in, and the first thing Nick did was to drag an empty packing-case and climb up so that he could peep out. Being nine years old and rather tall for his age, he could just manage it. He poked his nose over the edge and stared down at the garden in the sunshine, and saw the governess walking across the lawn with a big book under her arm. She was going towards the summer-house, where the gardener was mowing the grass with the fat Shetland pony. He watched her. Five minutes later she was deep in her book, lying full length in a deck-chair. Ten minutes later he saw the book slip to the ground. She was asleep. Nick scrambled back on to the floor. "Ha! Ha!" he said to himself, and clicked his tongue.

It was the fact of her being asleep that somehow suggested to him the idea of escaping. She wouldn't hear, for one thing; for another, she wouldn't see. He went over and tried the door. It was really locked. He shook it till it rattled, when suddenly, to his surprise and delight, the key shook loose and fell with a clatter to the floor. It made such a noise, however, that he was afraid she must have heard it even across the lawn. So he climbed up again on his packing-case to look. No! She was still asleep. He almost fancied he could hear her snore.

Then, just as he was carefully climbing down again, a strange thing happened. Right under his nose it happened. He saw a mouse run over the floor. He stared. He watched it. He said "Hist! Hist!" It darted first one way, then another. It was hunting for its hole, terrified of the big human figure in the air above it. He leaped down to chase it. The same second it vanished. It had escaped, but not into its hole. It had run under the door. The old door fitted badly. There was a crack between it and the floor. "Ho! Ho!" said the boy to himself, and clicked his tongue again.

Nick was on his hands and knees in a moment. He could see the key lying on the landing just outside. With the help of a long nail he found loose in the wall he could just reach it. In a very short space of time the key was under the crack and in his hand. Two seconds later the door was unlocked and Nick was free! "Good little mouse!" he said to himself in a whisper. "I believe you showed me the way on purpose."

What to do next was the question now. After thinking things over for a minute or two, he then locked himself in. He did this with a reason. He had an idea, this naughty Nick. He meant to escape, of course, but his idea was first to disguise himself, so that if anybody met him downstairs they wouldn't know who he was. But he did not want to be interrupted while dressing.

It was the boxes that gave him this idea of disguise, and he began his search at once. Nick was not the kind to waste time. Besides, the governess might wake up and climb the stairs to see if he was still there. In less than ten minutes every box that would open was open, their contents littered all over the floor. Nick scratched his red head and stared at the collection, wondering what was best to wear, wondering also what would fit him. His safety depended on his choice.

It was a problem: the dusty floor was covered with garments of every description — from Wellington boots his father sometimes wore, to uniforms, fur coats in camphor, gun-cases, rugs, shawls, blankets, and a lot of female clothes he could not name at all. He examined them one by one, scratching his head and sighing. There seemed nothing he could use. The smell of camphor was quite sickly. Slowly, with disappointment in his heart, he began to put them back into their various boxes, when suddenly something shining caught his eye. It gleamed, it was white, it was pointed, it was — yes, it was — a tooth. More — it was a row of teeth.

He picked it up gingerly, and an animal head and muzzle came up with it from the pile. A whole skin followed. He held his breath and stared, for it seemed he recognized it. He stared again. He did recognize it. It was the pantomime bear-skin his father used to put on at Christmas when the children were quite small, and when Father, too, was smaller than he was now. He had grown too big for it; the children, Nick among them, had also grown too big for such nonsense. But it was a wonderful bear-skin. You could get inside it, head and all, and there was something you squeezed like a bulb so that it made a noise that sounded as if a bear was growling.

Five minutes later Nick was inside it, practising. It fitted him fairly well, though the tail and shoulders dragged a little. He stuffed some shawls in to make it fuller. The growl, when he squeezed the bulb, was like a motor-car before it starts. He could walk about in it, he could stretch his arms, he could open and shut the mouth with the great white gleaming teeth, and when he pressed the bulb and growled he felt exactly as if he was a real bear. There were narrow slits below the eyes he could see through. The disguise was perfect. No one could possibly recognize him. "Hee! Hee!" he said to himself excitedly.

The next thing was — where to go; but before that he must make sure the governess was still asleep, or at least still in the summer-house. So, slipping his head free, he clambered up once more to the skylight window and peered over the edge. To his horror, he saw that she was no longer in the deck-chair; the summer-house was empty. She must be in the house below, on her way, perhaps, to come and let him out.

The same moment he caught the sound of a footstep on the stairs!

Red-headed boys, especially naughty red-headed boys, think quickly. His mind was made up in a second. He sprang down, darted out on to the landing as rapidly as the great skin allowed, shut the door and locked it, and then stood motionless against the wall, waiting for her to come up. He hoped she would think it was a stuffed bear — there were two stuffed bears in the hall below — standing on its hind legs. He kept still as a mouse, holding his arms out like the bears in the hall. And the steps came slowly, slowly nearer. Peeping through the narrow slits he could see clearly. It was the governess. She reached the top stair, passed him so close that she actually touched him, unlocked the door, and walked inside.

Nick held his breath, not daring to turn his head; but he knew she was looking round the box-room to find him. She had not noticed the "stuffed bear" evidently, because she was so accustomed to the couple in the hall. If she noticed it at all, she thought this was just an extra one that was kept upstairs.

"Nicholas, where are you?" he heard. "If you are good now, and will say you're sorry, you may come out!"

There was no answer. He heard her move forward into the room. The light was dim, for it was drawing towards evening and shadows lay thickly in the corners. The landing, too, where he stood was rather dark.

"Nicholas! Do you hear me?" came in a louder voice. There was still, of course, no answer. Slowly, very slowly, Nick turned his head. He could see her searching for him, rummaging among the piled-up boxes. He had put all the things back in their places again, and there was no sign of disorder. He watched her. She was stooping down now, peering behind a great packing-case, calling out, "Nicholas! Nicholas! Come out at once!" when he suddenly bent over, put his terrible head round the corner, pressed the bulb, and swung his arms about in the air.

The governess turned, saw the great bear behind her, heard its awful growl, opened her mouth, screamed, and fell back against the wall, knocking a large hamper over as she did so. The noise and clatter were tremendous.

"Help! Help! Murder!" screamed the governess at the top of her voice.

But Nick did not wait to help. He knew she would recover in a moment. She was only startled, really. Kicking the door to with a hind leg, he turned and ran downstairs as fast as ever he could go. He heard the door bang behind him, but the next minute, and before he was further than the second landing, he heard it open again, and out came the frightened governess, still yelling "Help! Help!" and flopping down the stairs after him as though a murderer were at her heels.

Whether she had guessed who the bear was and was chasing him, Nick didn't know; probably she was too frightened to think of anything except her own safety and was flying to some room where she could lock herself in and feel secure. Anyhow, she came thumping down the stairs behind him, only so slowly that he was down the second flight before she even reached the landing above. And at the bottom of this second flight, sitting on the tiger rug in the hall, he now saw Smoke, the fat grey Persian cat. The cat, at the same time, saw — him.

Smoke, as a rule, was too lazy even to play. She was enormously fat; she never made a quick movement of any sort unless she could help it. But when she saw this great bear with gleaming teeth come tumbling headlong down the front stairs into the hall she rose suddenly, arched her back, stuck her tail like a rod into the air, hissed, spat, jumped sideways — and was out of the hall as quick as lightning. She shot through an open door into the drawing-room, where the French windows stood wide. A second later she was scampering across the lawn as though a dozen terriers were at her heels. And Nick was following her. He, too, darted into the drawing-room, out through the windows, and tore across the lawn towards the summer-house. Into this summer-house Smoke disappeared like some mysterious shadow. Nick, following a moment later, also disappeared from view. The governess, having now reached the open drawing-room windows, looked across the lawn, saw nothing but the gardener and the pony with the lawn-mower, and, mopping her face with her handkerchief, turned round and went back into the house again.

Hardly had she turned her back, however, when Nick, finding the cat behind the box of croquet mallets, produced such an alarming growl that Smoke, perhaps in play, perhaps in genuine fright, shot out of the summer-house again like a flash of light, and Nick, the bear, flashed after her. They emerged almost together, and so suddenly that neither of them noticed the Shetland pony that was drawing the lawn-mower at that moment exactly past the opening. The pony, on the other hand, noticed both of them — a flying cat and a racing bear — just beneath its nose, at its very feet in fact. And this unusual sight so alarmed the pony that it flung up its heels, shook its head violently, and began to kick. It kicked the pile of cut grass completely upside down, so that the fine stuff flew into the gardener's face and made him cough and choke. The shower of grass fell all over him like rain.

Weedon, the gardener, was extremely surprised, for he had never seen the lazy pony do anything violent before, but a moment later he had shaken the grass out of his mouth and eyes and quieted the animal, when, as he turned round, he saw the sight of his life — a bear chasing a cat into the drawing-room window.

"Well I never —!" exclaimed Weedon, wondering if he was going to be ill — and promptly gave chase himself. The pony, accustomed to follow him, thought it was expected to do so now, and began to drag the mower slowly after him towards the house. Just as Weedon, who was not very fast on his feet, reached the open window, out shot Smoke, the fat Persian cat, between his legs, the bear after it again, and following the bear — the governess. There followed a general collision: Weedon fell backwards into a geranium bed close to the Shetland pony, who had now reached the edge of the lawn and was nibbling the flowers; the governess tripped over Weedon and pitched headlong into a rose bush; the bear stumbled over the cat and went head over heels along the gravel path. Only the cat kept its feet. Smoke, tail in air and whiskers bristling, shot on ahead faster than ever in the direction of the front door of the house, which now, for some reason, stood open.

Meanwhile the pile of people on the ground became gradually disentangled. Weedon helped the governess to her feet, then pushed the pony away from the flowers, telling it to behave itself and not eat geraniums; the bear stood upright, peeping out of its narrow slits. There was a general puffing and blowing, and the governess this time did not scream, because she had no breath left in her lungs. Nick, however, quicker than the others, had seen the cat's tail disappearing through the open front door, and, before anybody could say "knife," was after it. Following him as before, but much more slowly, came the lumbering Weedon and the unsteady governess.

Nick reached the door and plunged headlong through it into the hall.

Then came the final disaster. For at this very moment Thompson, the butler, happened to be crossing the hall with a tray, on his way to the morning-room. Luckily, there was nothing on the tray but a jug of hot water he was taking to the grown-ups' tea. It was quite enough, however. The cat flew past his feet like a grey shadow, but the bear landed full tilt against his middle, upsetting Thompson himself, the tray, and the jug of hot water. They all fell at the same moment, with a thundering noise, and it was only five seconds later, before any of them had time to get up again, that the morning-room door opened and a stern male voice cried: "What on earth is all this noise about?"

It was Father. He had come in by the back way from riding, and was just sitting down to his quiet cup of afternoon tea.

What he saw, as he stared across the hall, was a sight to be remembered. Thompson was sitting on the floor, his red face drenched in water; a bear crouched on all fours beside him, in the act of getting up; on the mat by the front door stood the governess, who had just arrived, her hair coming down, her arms waving; and behind her was Weedon, the gardener, fine-cut grass still clinging to his hat and neck and shoulders; while, just beyond him, shoving his head almost against his coat, was the Shetland pony, which had managed somehow to get loose from the mower and had followed him.

For a moment Father stood and stared. His face at first grew dark, but then gradually relaxed; the lines about the mouth softened; a twinkle crept into his eyes.

"Is this the Zoological Gardens?" he enquired in his deep voice, "or is it, perhaps, only a — bear-garden?" And his gaze rested on the bear, who had now managed to stand upright, facing him. In these few seconds he had quickly discovered who the chief culprit was.

No answer came. Thompson shuffled off to fetch more hot water from the pantry; Weedon, touching his hat, turned round and led the pony away from the hall door; the governess, tidying her hair as best she could, opened her mouth to explain matters, but found she had no breath. She moved slowly towards the door that led to the back stairs and disappeared. Only the bear was left. It was rather a frightened bear, it neither stirred nor growled, it stood there waiting for what might happen.

"And what have you been up to this time?" said Father, gruffly.

"Only — dressing up," came the faint reply from inside the skin.

"A dressing down is what you need," said the gruff voice, and, caught up in the big arms, the bear was carried bodily into the morning-room. The dressing down, however, was apparently not a very painful matter, for a good deal of laughter was heard inside the room, and when Thompson returned with the hot water he saw Nick's red head sticking out of the skin, its mouth busy with jam and bread-and-butter.

One thing, at any rate, Nick had to do, and that was to say he was sorry to everybody he had upset. First to the governess, then to the butler, then to Weedon, then to the pony, and last of all to Smoke, the Persian cat.

"Oh! Ho!" he said to himself when these apologies were all over. "It was worth it, anyhow!"