“Neddie, what makes you act so queerly?” asked Beckie Stubtail, the little bear, one morning when she and her brother were on their way to school.

“Queer! Do I act queer?” asked Neddie, as he turned around to see if any snowballs were growing on the end of his tail. None were, I’m glad to say.

“Queer! I really think you do act strange,” said Beckie, as politely as she could, while eating a bun Aunt Piffy had given her.

“What do I do that’s queer?” asked Neddie, curious-like.

“Why, you go around looking up in the air all the while, and listening, and then looking up again. I should think you would get a stiff neck,” said Beckie. “Why do you do it, Neddie?”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Neddie, sort of confused like. “I—er—I guess I’m looking up to see if it’s going to snow any more for Christmas.”

“Neddie Stubtail!” exclaimed Beckie, shaking her paw at him. “That isn’t it at all! You’re looking for something in the air and I know it. And, besides, you talked in your sleep last night!”

“Did I?” asked Neddie, sort of anxious-like. “What did I say, Beckie?”

“Well, I couldn’t understand it all. But it was something about a tree, and getting caught in it, and then you hollered out: ‘I won’t tell, Sandy!’ That’s what you talked.”

“Did I say Sandy?” asked Neddie.

“Well, it sounded like that,” answered Beckie. “But I won’t be sure.” Then she looked at her brother. Neddie was all sort of red back of his ears, and his little stubby tail was going wiggle-waggle-wog. Then Beckie suspected something.

“Neddie Stubtail!” she cried. “I believe you know something about Santa Claus! That’s it! It was Santa—not Sandy. Oh! Neddie, do you—really? Tell me, please! I won’t tell. Come on, do, it’s so near Christmas!”

Beckie took hold of Neddie’s paw and kissed him on the nose.

“Aw, quit!” he cried. “I’m not a girl!”

“I know, Neddie, dear,” said Beckie softly. “But I love you!”

“Huh! Yes! I guess you want me to tell you the secret, don’t you?” he asked, and really Neddie did not speak as politely as he might have done. But he did not mean to be unkind.

“Oh, a secret!” cried Beckie, clapping her paws. “Do tell me, Neddie, dear.”

“I promised not to,” said the little boy bear, looking at his toes.

“Oh, if you will,” said Beckie, “I’ve got a honey cake, and I’ll give it to you. Do tell me!”

“Well,” said Neddie, slowly, as he ate the cake his sister gave him, “It happened last night. I promised not to tell, but then you’re my sister and it’s almost Christmas, anyhow. I guess he won’t care.”

And then, because he loved his little sister bear, Neddie told all about having helped Santa Claus, who got caught in the tree top with his airship, as I told you in the story before this one.

“Oh, how perfectly lovely!” cried Beckie, clapping her paws. “Neddie, if I had another honey cake I’d give it to you. Just to think! You really saw Santa Claus!”

“But it’s a secret!” said Neddie, quickly.

“Of course—I know,” said Beckie, sticking up her nose just the little tiniest bit. “I won’t tell a single soul.”

And then they were at school. They studied their lessons and then, as it was recess, all the animal children went out in the yard to play. And, of course, Beckie had to go and tell that she had a secret.

And, of course, all the girls wanted to know what the secret was. And, of course, Beckie said she couldn’t tell, but the girls, like Alice and Lulu Wibblewobble, the ducks, and Kittie Kat, and Brighteyes, the guinea pig girl, all begged and teased, and well——

“Now promise, cross your heart and twist your paws you’ll never, never tell if I tell you,” asked Beckie.

“Oh, we promise,” said all the animal girls.

Well, you can easily guess what happened. Beckie told how her brother Neddie had helped Santa Claus out of the tree in his airship. And, of course, all the girls promised not to even whisper it. And then, somehow, all the boys had heard of what happened to Neddie. And, in a short time, everybody in the school knew all about the little boy bear having seen Santa Claus.

“Well, it’s very queer!” exclaimed Beckie when Neddie spoke to her about it. “I only just told a few girls—only a very few, and they all promised not to tell!”

“Huh!” exclaimed Neddie. And then, as he saw that his little sister felt badly, he added: “Never mind, Beckie. You didn’t mean to, and I guess Santa Claus won’t care, anyhow.”

And Neddie let Beckie kiss him again, which was very nice of him, I think.

Then, when recess was almost over, Jackie Bow Bow, the puppy dog boy, said:

“Pooh! I don’t believe Santa Claus comes down the chimney the way they say he does.”

“You don’t believe that?” cried Neddie Stubtail, surprised-like.

“No, I don’t,” said Jackie. “Maybe he has an airship, for you saw that, but nobody ever saw him come down the chimney.”

“The idea!” cried Beckie. “What a funny boy! Of course he comes down the chimney.”

“How can he with a pack on his back? Answer me that!” cried Jackie. Neddie and Beckie looked at one another. They both thought of the same thing. Then Neddie said:

“Of course Santa Claus comes down the chimney. What if he is big? I’m bigger than Sammy Littletail, the rabbit, and I can go down a chimney.”

“So can I!” cried Beckie.

“And we’ll do it, too!” added Neddie. “We have a few minutes of recess yet. Beckie and I will go down the school chimney to show them all that Santa Claus can do the same thing.”

Then, while all the other animal children looked on in wonder, Beckie and Neddie scrambled up on the roof of the schoolhouse. They could easily do this as there was a tree growing near it. Then Neddie got in the chimney first. It was a large, wide one.

“You’ll get all black soot,” said Beckie.

“Never mind, it will all wash off,” spoke Neddie. “Come on in, Beckie. There’s lots of room.”

So Beckie got in the chimney, too. Just then the school bell rang. Recess was over. All the animal children had to run in.

“Oh, you’ll get a bad mark!” they cried to Neddie and Beckie. “You’ll be late!”

“Hurry up! Slide down the chimney and go to school that way!” cried Beckie to Neddie.

“I can’t! I’m stuck fast!” he said.

“I’ll give you a push!” she cried. And she did. She pushed so hard that both she and Neddie fell right on down through the hole in the chimney, into the fireplace in the school room. But, luckily, there was no fire on the hearth, so they were not burned. Which shows you that Santa Claus can come down a chimney, and which also shows you that you should not have a fire in the grate on Christmas eve.

Well, of course, Neddie and Beckie coming down the chimney made quite some excitement in the school, but all the animal children laughed, and the professor-teacher laughed, too, and then, as it was so near Christmas, he said there would be no more lessons that day. So Neddie and Beckie, having proved that Santa Claus could come down a chimney, went home to wash off the soot.

What’s that? How does Santa Claus get the black soot off him when he comes down a chimney? Why, he always has a whiskbroom with him, you know, and every time he comes down a chimney he brushes himself off. See?

And now we have come to the end of this book, for you can easily tell, by looking, that there isn’t room for another story in it.

I’ll just say, though, that Neddie and Beckie had the finest Christmas that ever you can imagine. And such presents as they received! And the candy and nuts and oranges and honey cakes—Oh, my! It makes me hungry just to write about it.

And the two little bear children, and their papa and mamma, and Aunt Piffy, the fat bear, and Uncle Wigwag, and Mr. Whitewash lived happily for ever after—for many years after. And every time he got a chance Uncle Wigwag would play a joke. And Mr. Whitewash would always sit on a cake of ice when he could find one.

But if I can’t get any more stories in this book, I can put them in another. And I will. That book will be called “Bully and Bawly No-Tail,” and they will be stories about the two little frog boys, who lived in a pond, and could swim as good as a gold fish. They had no tails, except when they were baby tadpoles, but those tails soon fell off. So their names were “No-Tail” you see, just as Buddy and Brighteyes, the guinea pigs, had no tail.

So I’ll say good-bye now, for a little while, as I have to write the new book for you.