Once upon a time there were three bears. They lived in a cottage by the wood.

First you saw a little green gate opening on to a garden path with a box-border on either side. Behind the box-border were all sorts of sweet flowers—pinks, gilly-flowers, and pansies, boy’s-love, rosemary, and sweet lavender. Behind the flowers grew gooseberry and currant-bushes, and behind the currant bushes cabbages, carrots and onions for dinner.

The straight path led to the cottage door all covered with roses and honeysuckle. Such pink roses and such sweet honeysuckle, just the sort the bees love best, for bears like honey, and the bee-hives were behind.

The door stood open to let in the air and the sunshine, and because doors were made, in those days, to let people in, and not keep them out.

Inside was the nicest, cleanest kitchen you ever saw, with a table in the middle, as white as soap and scrubbing could make it. Against the wall stood a tall dresser covered with bright pewter plates, hanging cups and jugs, and all things such as bears might use. A pepper-pot, you may be sure, and a tureen with string and odd things in it.

The three chairs just suited, for there was a great, huge arm-chair for Mr. Bear, who was big and heavy; a middling-sized chair for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee chair for little Master Bear, who was small and wee.

The fireplace, with its open chimney (it had a green frill on a string under the mantle-shelf) was the cosiest in all the land, as Mr. Bear very well knew when he smoked his pipe there on a winter night.

In one corner of the kitchen was a door that opened on to the stairs, and up the stairs they went to bed every night. The bedroom had three beds in it that any one might like to see. A great, huge one for Mr. Bear, a middling-sized one for Mrs. Bear, and a small, wee one for little Master Bear. All was sweet and airy, and the window looked out into the garden, and the roses looked in at the window, and the wind whispered in the trees outside.

Now it happened one summer morning that Mrs. Bear got up earlier than usual to make the porridge for breakfast, and it happened, too, that when she put it out to cool in three willow-pattern bowls on the table (a great, huge bowl for Mr. Bear, who was so big; a middling-sized bowl for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee bowl for little Master Bear, who was small and wee) that she went to the foot of the stairs, and called aloud to Mr. Bear: “Make haste down, and we will go for a walk in the wood while the porridge is cooling.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear, in his great rough voice; and then down he came, with little Master Bear scrambling down behind him.

Now when great, huge Mr. Bear came down the stairs, you can be sure that he caused every board in the cottage to creak, and the thud of each tread was so very heavy that all the cups on the dresser shook. That tells you how huge and big he was.

Mrs. Bear heard him coming and took her bonnet from its peg, and when the strings were tied beneath her chin, and Mr. Bear had taken his thorn stick from the corner, and little Master Bear had found his butterfly net, they all set off in the wood for a walk, clicking the gate behind them.

Such a lovely June morning for an early walk. The birds sang, the breeze fluttered Mrs. Bear’s skirts and Master Bear’s butterfly net, and the dew was on the grass and hung all shimmering in the cobwebs.

As to the wood, it was cool and shady, and the three bears were soon out of sight.

Then there came to the gate a little girl named Silverhair. She was hot and tired, and said to herself: “Here is a sweet cottage; perhaps the good woman who lives here will give me some milk and a rest. I’ll knock at the door and see.”

So up the straight path she walked, with the box-border on either side.

“Rat-a-tat,” she knocked.

But nobody said “come in.”

“Rat-a-tat-a-tat” once more, but nobody said “come in.”

Then again louder than before, but all was still. So, being very hungry, and not so shy as she ought to have been before such a sweet, open door, in she peeped, and then in she went, and the very next minute she was tasting Mr. Bear’s porridge. But it was too hot, and she let the spoon fall with a clatter on the table. Then she tried Mrs. Bear’s porridge, but that was too cold, and then she went to little Master Bear’s porridge, and that was so nice, neither too hot nor too cold, that she ate it all up till she could see the blue pattern at the bottom of the bowl quite plain.

That was sad, for it was not her porridge! Little Silverhair was quite naughty now!

After her breakfast she felt how tired she was, so she sat down in Mr. Bear’s arm-chair, but that was too hard. Then she sat down in Mrs. Bear’s chair, but that was too soft; she thought it quite stuffy for so warm a morning, and she was now hard to please, for Mrs. Bear’s chair was covered with pretty white chintz with rose-buds on it, and what more could she want?

But she was very naughty now! She sat down quite roughly in little Master Bear’s chair, and sat the bottom out, and was not dismayed! No, up she jumped, and looked about till she saw the door in the corner. Then she tripped upstairs, and threw herself down on Mr. Bear’s bed. But that was too hard. Then on Mrs. Bear’s bed, but that was too soft. And last of all she tried little Master Bear’s little wee bed, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just right.

In two minutes she was fast asleep, with the breeze from the window blowing on her soft silver hair.

Now between conversation and butterflies the three Bears had let the time pass, till suddenly Mrs. Bear saw by the shadows of the trees on the grass that the porridge must be cool.

“We must turn, and walk faster home,” she said.

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear in his great, huge voice. But the birds in the wood did not flutter, for they knew quite well what a kind heart he had, and how he kept crumbs on his window-sill.

When they got to the gate that they had clicked behind them, it was open, and Mr. Bear hurried on to see who had come. He hurried on till, when Mrs. Bear and the little one came in, he was standing before his porridge bowl with a sad face, and his spectacles pushed on his forehead.

“Someone has been at my porridge,” he said, very loud indeed.

Poor Mrs. Bear! She looked at her own bowl, threw up her hands, and said in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary me, someone has been at my porridge!”

Then little Master Bear tossed his butterfly net into the corner and ran to the table, but though he tipped up his bowl till the pattern was plain to see on the bottom, not so much as one drop of milk could he get from out of it, and he cried in his shrill little voice, “Someone has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up!”

Then there was great uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Bear, and he turned to his chair and saw how it was pulled from the wall in a very unusual way. “Someone has been sitting in my chair,” he said.

Mrs. Bear turned to hers, and saw that the cushions were all in disorder. “Oh, deary me!” she said, “someone has been sitting in my chair.”

Then Master Bear, leaving his empty bowl, hustled up to see; and now it was “Oh, deary me,” and no mistake, for when he saw his little chair all broken and spoiled he cried out at the top of his wee voice, “Someone has been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom out!”

No time was to be lost in such sad straits, and Mr. Bear had his foot on the stairs before Mrs. Bear had so much as decided how the little chair could be mended. She felt sorely puzzled, but, picking up her gown in front, she followed Mr. Bear up the stairs, while little Master Bear clambered, heavy-hearted, up behind her, holding on very tight to the back breadth of her skirt, for who could tell what would happen next!

Once in the room, they all went to the big bedstead that had been made so strong for Mr. Bear by the village carpenter, who knew how to please his customers.

When they saw the clothes so tumbled, it was no wonder that Mr. Bear should thunder out, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed!”

Poor Mrs. Bear! she turned round to look at her own white bed, with its pretty dimity curtains, and she called out in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary, deary, deary me, someone has been sleeping on my bed!” Her feelings and the counterpane were sadly ruffled.

Master Bear then left go of her gown, and crept away to his own little corner.

And what did he find? Fast asleep, with her hand tucked under her cheek, and her hair all tossed about on the pillow, lay little Silverhair, dreaming of porridge and broken chairs. How pleased the wee Bear was! He piped out in his small, wee voice, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed, and here she is fast asleep!”

But the last word sounded so loud in Silverhair’s ear, that it woke her with a start, and before the three Bears could tell what to do next, she had jumped out of bed and then out through the window, brushing the dew off the roses as she went; and those three Bears never, never, never saw her any more.