And indeed he was not.  Aside from being shaken up and having his plush ruffled, the Bear was not in the least harmed.  But had he landed on the road one of his springs inside or some of his wheels might have been broken or twisted, and he never could have growled again or moved his head or paws.  That is, unless Mr. Mugg could have mended him.

As it was, the Plush Bear fell down into the tree, and there he stuck on a branch not far from the ground.  The Plush Bear sat astraddle the limb.

“Oh, I am not safe yet!” he thought.  “Maybe I’ll fall after all!  I must keep very still and quiet until I see what will happen next.”

By this time the train had stopped and Arthur and his father were alighting at the small station.

“This isn’t where you get off,” said the conductor to Mr. Rowe.  “This isn’t the seashore.”

“I know it,” said Mr. Rowe.  “But my little boy dropped his Plush Bear out of the window, and we’re going back to see if we can get it.  Have we time?”

“Yes,” answered the conductor.  “The train has to wait here five minutes to have some trunks taken off.  But don’t be too long.  I hope you may find the little boy’s toy.”

Arthur hoped so himself, as he hurried down to the street level.

“Where do you think my Bear is, Daddy?” he asked.

“It must be somewhere near the bridge,” was the answer.  “I heard you call out as the train rumbled over it.”

Along the street which ran near the railroad walked Arthur and his father.  As they walked they looked carefully on the ground for sight of the Plush Bear, but he was not to be found.

“I’m sure you must have dropped him about here,” said Mr. Rowe, as he and the fat boy stood beneath the railroad bridge.  “But he isn’t in sight.  Perhaps some one picked him up.”

“Oh, is my nice Plush Bear gone?” sighed Arthur.

He looked all around, but Mr. Bruin, as the Bear was sometimes called, was not in sight.  Then a ragged little boy, who had been flying a kite, came running along the street.

“What’s the matter?” asked the ragged lad.  “Did you lose your ball?”

“No; it’s my Plush Bear,” answered Arthur.  “I dropped him out of the car window, but I don’t see him now.”

The ragged boy looked up into the tree under which he and the fat boy and Mr. Rowe were standing.  There, right over their heads, stretched out on a limb to which he seemed to be clinging with all four paws, was the Plush Bear.  The toy had been looking down at Arthur and his father, and he had been wishing he might call and tell them where he was, but of course this was not allowed.

“I see him!  I’ll get him for you!” cried the ragged boy.

In another moment he was climbing the tree, and a little later he tossed down the Plush Bear, Mr. Rowe catching the toy in his hands.

“Now I have him back again!  Oh, I’m so glad!  Now I have my Plush Bear!” cried Arthur.  “I’ll never let you fall out of a window again!”