“Nonsense!” insisted Shagg, “why mother wouldn’t hear to me leaving you up here. So come along with you.” And leading the way to the far edge of the clearing, Shagg uncovered an iron ring, raised a heavy trap door, and the two descended a well-worn flight of winding stone steps until they came to a great, rugged room that was almost as broad as the clearing above.
It required but a glance for Little Black Bear to see that the place in which he so suddenly found himself was a cave. There to the right was what had once been its entrance but which had at some time or other been turned into a window—a window that was framed with trailing wild roses and through which he could see the trees of the forest and the bright green of the grass underneath. On that side of the cave that was across from the stairway rose a huge fireplace and in front of it—her back turned toward them, and slowly stirring the contents of a very fat and very round pot that hung over the flames—bent Mrs. Shagg.
“Mother, this is Little Black Bear; I have brought him down to dine with us,” said Shagg.
“Why, isn’t that fine, now,” cried she, coming forward. “Indeed, young sir, you are most welcome. You will find the spring over in the corner, should you care to wash. It won’t take me a minute to put on an extra bowl and then we’ll sit right down.”
As she hustled about, laying another place at the big wooden table that stood in the middle of the cave, Little Black Bear thought he had never met any one with such a white cap and apron. He just positively knew there never were any starched quite as stiff and as straight nor adorned with such beautiful bows. Indeed, he had hard work in trying to tell whether the merry crackling sound that now and then filled the room came from the apron or the fire on the hearth.
“Hurry along with the both of you, now,” called she, as Shagg and Little Black Bear returned from the spring. And soon they were all three at table. Little Black Bear had never before seen such lovely dishes—beautiful iron ones and so delightfully black. Of course there was porridge—three bountiful bowls of it—and a deep dish fairly overflowing with honey. As they ate they talked, the guest telling many stories of the circus and a great deal about Diggeldy Dan, the Pretty Lady, and of Spangleland.