Early in the evening old Grizzly came.  He had followed Bushy Tail from California.

“What a beautiful bear!” said Susan.

“He looks kind,” said Bunny.

Old Grizzly read the sign.  He did not pass by as the other animals had done.  He went straight up to the front door and knocked.

“Perhaps he can’t read,” said Bunny, so he shouted, “Scarlet Fever here!”

Old Grizzly nodded his head.  He said he had had scarlet fever three times, and he was not afraid to have it again.

So they opened the door and let old Grizzly in.  Then they all had a jolly time, and Bunny told why he put up the sign on the house.

“You may have a new kind of scarlet fever,” said Old Grizzly, “maybe I shall catch it!” and they all laughed.

Old Grizzly had been in a circus, and had traveled in the East and in the West.  He could tell lovely stories, so he stayed a long time and told stories, and Susan Cotton-Tail went out in the kitchen and came back with a mince pie in each hand. (These pies had been hidden away in a tin.)

They all enjoyed the pies, and then Bunny asked old Grizzly to spend the night with them.  Old Grizzly said, “No, thank you.”  The house next door was vacant and he was going to live there.

Susan held the candle at the door and old Grizzly went to his new home.

“I like him, but I am glad he went out for the night,” said Bunny.  “Just think!” Susan said, “he has promised to come in every night and tell us a story!”

CHAPTER III

When old Grizzly came next evening he had a book tucked under his arm.

“What have you there?” asked Bunny and Susan together.

It was some time before old Grizzly would tell.  Then he coughed and said he had one story that every one liked so well that he had written it down, and drawn pictures for it.

The two rabbits begged so hard to see the pictures that old Grizzly opened the book and showed them all the pictures before he began to read.  And this is the story he read: 

Once there was a gentleman who wrote stories.  He had a fine large cat called Whiskers.

One day Whiskers thought he would see the man write his story, so he sat up on the desk beside him.

The man started to write a story about an elephant.  It was to be a long story with big words in it.

Whiskers wanted to be petted just then, and as the man did not notice him, he gave the pen a little slap, and it made a funny mark down the page.

“Never mind,” said the man, “that will do for the path along which the elephant walked.”

The man’s pen was a lovely thing to play with, but Whiskers had a nicer plaything himself.  He began to go round and round after his own tail.  Round and round he went, until he upset the ink.  Then he was so scared that he ran and hid.

The man only laughed, and said he would draw funny little figures where the blots of ink were.