She had been following that tell-tale trail all morning and was determined she’d find the bandit. All those over-turned garbage cans, clothes stolen off clotheslines, food swiped from picnic baskets when no one was looking–it had to stop. Looking down at the ground, she saw a partial footprint. Her hair stood on end. That footprint was big! Could she be dealing with Bigfoot?
Thinking of Bigfoot and moving cautiously, she entered the forest. A rising spiral of smoke in the distance guided her to a small house. Could this be the den of the doer of devious deeds? Tiptoeing to the front door, she gave it a small push. The door swung open! An unlocked door was an invitation to enter, wasn’t it? She couldn’t be accused of breaking and entering, if push came to shove. Only entering.
The room she stepped into appeared to be the parlor. She gasped as she saw three chairs in front of a television set, all in different sizes. Could she be dealing with three thieves instead of one? She climbed up in the first chair, trying to get a mental picture of who might consider it comfy, but her feet couldn’t even touch the floor. The second chair rocked and made her feel unstable, but that third chair–just right! Ah-h. She was about to settle comfortably into it when it cracked and crashed. Crumpled! Evidently it was not cleverly crafted.
After scrambling up off the floor, she followed her nose to the kitchen. Crowds of clues here. Three bowls of soup sat on the table, but no doers of dastardly deeds.
She tasted the first bowl, fanned her mouth, and skipped around the floor, yelling, “Ow! Oh! Hot!” When she sipped a spoonful of the second bowl of soup, she nearly gagged. Cold! Who would want cold soup? Gingerly, she tried the third bowl. Hmm. Just right. The walk through the woods had made her hungry, so she greedily gulped it every bit.
But, where was the bad band of bandits? So far, she hadn’t heard a sound. Maybe they were hiding upstairs. Well, they wouldn’t escape the mighty arm of the law or the Golden-Haired Sleuth. She crept up the stairs, stopped and stood stock still.
Two doors opened to two bedrooms. She gingerly felt the bed in room number one. Hard as a rock! Probably the person who slept here had a bad back and demanded a firm foundation. Next was another bed with a flowery, frilly flounce. Soft and cushy, a featherbed.
She tiptoed to the second bedroom and saw a small bed. She’d lie down on it for just a minute. Wow! Was that a comfortable mattress or what? The walk through the forest had been long, that nasty fall from the spindly chair downstairs was upsetting, and the warm bowl of soup all caught up with her. She yawned. She’d just close her eyes and try to visualize the kind of varmint who would want a bed like this.
Hot breath fanned her cheek. She awoke with a start and saw three pairs of eyes staring at her. Squinty, mean, uncivilized eyes and she heard–oh, heavens–she heard a low, menacing growl. Bouncing from bed, she raced to the window, plunged right through and, thanks to her aerobic training and amazing gymnastic skills, landed on her feet. Her pulse pounding, she hot-footed toward home.
“Who was that little golden-haired intruder?” Papa Bear asked.
Mama Bear shrugged. “Beats me. I wonder if her parents never warned her about going into someone’s house when they weren’t home?”
“I don’t know who she was,” Baby Bear said, sniffling, “but she broke my chair and ate my soup and she didn’t even say she was sorry.”
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